THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 


THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 


BY 


GAMALIEL  BRADFORD,  JR. 


"  A  blossom  twinkling  from  a  ruined  wall : 
Old  stones,  young  love,  and  sunshine  over  all." 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MLFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

£br  ftilicrsi&c  press,  Cambridge 
1905 


COPYRIGHT   1904  BY   GAMALIEL  BRADFORD  JR. 
ALL  RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  October  1904 


TO 

H.  F.  B. 

IN  MEMORY  OF 

THE   WEAKY   FASCINATION 

OF   ROME 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGK 

I.   IN  THE  ARENA 1 

II.  MRS.  BARTON  RECEIVES          ...  12 

III.  THE  COUNTESS  MARKOVSKI         ...  23 

IV.  OFF  WITH  THE  OLD  LOVE     ...  35 
V.   THE  WOLF  AND  THE  LAMB        ...  46 

VI.  THE  CASTING  OF  PEARLS        ...  56 

VII.   ON  THE  PINCIAN 67 

VIII.   "As  I  RIDE,  AS  I  RIDE"        .        .        .  83 

IX.   His  FATHER'S  SON 98 

X.   A  HINT  OF  EROS 110 

XI.  THE  VILLA  OF  HADRIAN   .        .        .        .121 

XII.  LOVE  IN  RUINS 132 

XIII.  CHOPIN  AND  SUICIDE 146 

XIV.  A  CONVERSION 159 

XV.  THE  SONG  OF  THE  SIREN  .        .        .        .175 

XVI.   A  TUTORED  SAVAGE       ....  191 

XVII.   A  BIT  OF  SHADOW 203 

XVIII.  A  DUEL 219 

XIX.   EDGAR  SPEAKS  HIS  MIND  ....  231 

XX.   THE  MAGIC  OF  THE  MOON     .        .        .  244 

XXI.   A  BUSINESS  PROPOSITION    ....  260 

XXII.   WILL  YOU  WALK  INTO  MY  PARLOR       .  267 

XXIII.  THE  CRISIS 280 

XXIV.  AN  ARCHAEOLOGICAL  FAILURE         .        .  293 
XXV.   THE  TUTOR'S  AUDIT 306 

XXVI.  WHAT  CAME  OF  ir  ALL  312 


THE  PEIYATE  TUTOR 


CHAPTER  I 
IN  THE  ARENA 

IT  was  at  Rome,  in  the  Colosseum,  on  a  morning 
early  in  November,  near  the  very  close  of  the  nine 
teenth  century.  The  sun  was  bright  and  warm,  as 
it  is  in  Rome,  even  at  that  season ;  and  the  ruined 
walls  stood  out  sharp  against  an  absolutely  cloud 
less  sky.  A  young  American  was  sitting  about 
halfway  up  the  south  side  of  the  building,  with 
sketching  paraphernalia  about  him,  —  easel,  can 
vas,  brushes,  etc. ;  but  the  canvas  was  quite  blank, 
and  the  young  man  was  leaning  back,  gazing  idly, 
with  his  hands  clasped  behind  his  head,  apparently 
absorbing  the  picture  before  he  painted  it.  He  was 
a  well-dressed  young  man,  with  an  air  of  ease  and 
opulence  about  him,  which  did  not  suggest  the 
painting  of  pot-boilers.  Large  of  frame  and  almost 
heavy  of  features  and  expression,  he  yet  had  a 
something  of  good-humor  and  shrewdness  in  his 
face,  which  made  you  feel  that  he  would  be  a  plea 
sant  companion.  As  that  is  all  he  is  called  upon 


2  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

to  be  in  this  narrative,  it  is  unnecessary  to  discuss 
him  further. 

The  scene  at  which  he  gazed  had  those  con 
trasted  elements  which  give  modern  Rome  so  much 
of  its  piquancy.  Around,  below,  and  above,  were 
the  enormous  heaps  of  stone  which  have  been  sung 
and  painted  and  described  so  often  that  to  describe 
them  again  is  a  mere  insult  to  the  intelligent 
reader ;  but  their  sombre  background  was  relieved 
here  and  there  by  bits  and  patches  of  flitting  and 
fleeting  mortality.  Probably  the  painter  would 
have  liked  to  seize  and  hold  upon  his  canvas  some 
one  or  several  of  these.  At  any  rate,  he  seemed  to 
enjoy  the  contemplation  of  them. 

Below  him,  on  the  same  side,  were  two  old  ladies 
and  an  old  gentleman,  trying  to  get  themselves 
into  the  local  atmosphere,  with  the  aid  of  Baedeker. 
The  gentleman  would  read  a  passage,  while  the 
ladies  put  their  heads  close  to  his  and  to  the  book. 
Then  he  would  look  up  and  around  with  a  puzzled 
air.  A  few  gestures  of  conjecture,  of  conference, 
of  contradiction  would  follow,  and  would  gradually 
resolve  themselves  into  a  smile  of  weary  content 
ment.  Then  another  dose  of  Baedeker. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  amphitheatre,  another 
elderly  gentleman  and  a  young  lady  were  doing  the 
ruins  with  a  guide.  The  latter  led  his  victims  rap 
idly  from  one  point  to  another,  and  chattered  and 
gesticulated  furiously.  The  young  lady  absorbed  it 
all  with  solemn  reverence.  The  gentleman  toiled 


IN   THE   ARENA  3 

after  them  up  the  steep  steps  and  over  the  rugged 
platforms ;  and  you  could  see,  with  the  naked  eye, 
that  he  heartily  wished  himself  back  in  Wall  Street. 

Farther  away  still,  high  on  the  top  tier  of  seats, 
three  merry  girls  were  laughing  and  flirting  with  a 
fashionable  youth.  Their  gay  gowns  fluttered  like 
blossoms  against  the  blue  sky ;  and  one  had  a  red 
parasol  that  flashed  and  flickered  like  a  tongue 
of  fire.  What  did  they  care  for  old  ruins  and  the 
might  of  Koman  glory  and  the  dead  splendors  of 
the  world? 

Then  the  place  was  stormed  by  a  party  of  Cook's 
tourists,  booked  to  do  it  in  twenty-eight  minutes, 
by  the  watch.  They  were  personally  conducted  by 
a  tall,  lank  gentleman  with  a  black  suit,  a  little 
threadbare,  and  a  white  tie,  who  had  evidently 
been  bred  a  minister,  until  he  stumbled  into  this 
nobler  form  of  edification.  He  halted  his  flock  in 
a  central  spot  beneath  our  observer,  and  began  the 
usual  lecture,  ground  out  with  the  indifference  of 
a  performer  on  the  hand-organ.  A  scrap  or  two 
drifted  up  to  the  young  man's  idle  ears.  "  Ladies 
and  gentlemen  —  magnificent  ruins  —  blood  of  a 
thousand  victims  —  all  the  sins  of  the  Pagan  world 
—  pomp,  luxury,  and  heathen  splendor."  It  was 
"  Quo  Vadis  "  in  little.  And,  as  the  orator  called 
their  attention  to  one  spot,  and  then  to  another,  the 
personally  conducted  moved  their  dull  and  patient 
faces  all  together,  like  the  spectators  at  a  tennis 
match. 


4  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

Our  artist  friend,  after  watching  this  spectacle 
for  a  few  moments,  turned  his  eyes  toward  the  en 
trance  of  the  amphitheatre  and  saw  an  acquaint 
ance.  This  was  a  young  man  of  twenty-seven  or 
eight,  tall  and  well-made,  rather  light  in  complex 
ion,  with  a  cane  in  his  hand,  and  cigar  in  his 
mouth.  His  dress  was  carelessly  worn  and  not 
costly ;  but  no  one  would  have  doubted  his  being  a 
gentleman.  The  painter,  as  soon  as  he  beheld  this 
newcomer,  sat  upright  and  uttered  a  shrill  whistle, 
which  sharply  interrupted  the  minister's  sermon 
and  made  his  hearers  waste  ten  seconds,  by  look 
ing  in  a  direction  not  allowed  for  in  their  itin 
erary. 

The  young  man  below  also  looked  up,  paused  in 
uncertainty  for  a  moment,  then  waved  his  hand  in 
sign  of  recognition  and  rapidly  made  his  way  to 
the  whistler's  side. 

"  Hullo,  Morris !  "  he  cried.  «  You  here  still  — 
and  painting?" 

"  I  have  n't  been  here,  or  painting,  all  the  time 
since  you  left,  Gordon,  my  boy.  That  is  a  good 
while  ago." 

"  Three  years  —  only." 

"  Three  years  !  Hear  him !  Do  you  know  all  the 
things  that  might  happen  in  three  years  ?  Where 
have  you  been  ?  Painting  somewhere  else  ?  " 

"  No.  I  discovered  that  art  was  not  my  proper 
vocation.  Do  you  still  think  it  yours,  Morris  ?  " 

"  No,  Kob.    It  is  my  avocation  —  one  of  them. 


IN  THE  ARENA  5 

My  vocation  is  amusing  myself.  I  labor  in  it  from 
morning  till  night  —  with  poor  success." 

"  But,  Dick,  I  thought  you  would  have  been  out 
of  this  long  ago.  When  I  left,  you  said  you  were 
going  back  to  New  York,  sick  of  bad  luck,  bad 
victuals,  and  bad  pictures,  or  something  of  that 
sort." 

"  You  've  got  a  memory  like  a  graphophone," 
Morris  answered,  puffing  his  cigar.  "  I  did  think 
then,  for  a  while,  that  I  would  go  back  to  America 
and  work.  But,  you  see,  my  aunt  turned  up.  She 's 
awfully  rich,  my  aunt.  She  's  taken  a  fancy  to  me, 
which  I  Ve  never  been  able  to  account  for.  She 
wants  me  to  stay  —  and  I  stay." 

"  Manifest  destiny,"  said  Gordon,  smiling ;  and 
his  smile  was  full  of  a  wonderful  charm  of  mingled 
intelligence  and  naivete. 

"Just  so.  But  tell  me  about  yourself,  Rob. 
What  are  you  back  here  for  ?  " 

"  Well,"  replied  the  other  thoughtfully,  "  I  'm 
all  changed  from  what  I  was."  He  gazed  across 
the  amphitheatre  at  the  girl  with  the  red  parasol, 
who  was  gazing  at  him.  "No  more  frolic  and 
foolery,  no  more  champagne  and  suppers  with  the 
ballet." 

"What!"  cried  Morris,  in  horror.  "Not  a 
clergyman  surely  ?  " 

"  No,  worse  than  that.    I  'm  a  private  tutor." 

"  A  private  tutor  !  Heaven  forbid !  How  did  it 
happen  ?  " 


6  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

"  Do  you  really  want  to  hear  it,  you  know  ? 
It 's  more  tiresome  than  a  novel." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  hardly  think  so.  Make  it  as  brief  as 
possible." 

"  It 's  quite  simple,"  Gordon  went  on,  speaking 
with  broken  phrases,  punctuated  with  whiffs  of 
smoke.  "  When  I  left  here  three  years  ago,  I  had 
no  money  and  no  real  estate,  except  a  little  on 
canvas.  I  wonder  how  it  would  seem  to  have 
money." 

"  I  wonder,"  echoed  his  companion. 

"  But  your  aunt,  my  friend." 

"  But  the  devil,  my  friend.    Go  on." 

"  I  sold  my  canvases  in  Boston.  It  is  astonish 
ing  what  people  will  buy  there.  But  the  money 
didn't  carry  me  very  far  and  I  didn't  seem  to 
have  anything  to  do.  I  tried  to  paint  portraits 
and  I  got  some  swell  sitters  —  mondaines  de  la 
derniere  elegance,  in  fact.  The  very  thought  of 
them  chills  my  blood.  I  painted  them  as  I  saw 
them.  It  didn't  please  them  somehow.  The  art 
of  portraiture  seems  to  be  to  paint  people  as 
you  don't  see  them,  and  that  does  n't  please  me. 
They  were  good  to  me,  though." 

"  Of  course  they  were,"  interrupted  Morris. 
"  Women  always  are  good  to  you." 

"  Are  they  ?  "  asked  Gordon  simply. 

His  companion  shrugged  his  shoulders.  For  a 
moment  they  were  both  silent.  The  sky  was  filling 
with  soft  white  clouds,  and  every  now  and  then 


IN   THE   ARENA  7 

one  of  them  rolled  its  shadow  over  the  vast  arena 
and  dulled  the  radiance  of  the  red  parasol.  In  a 
few  minutes  Gordon  went  on  again. 

"  One  of  my  victims  was  a  Mrs.  Keith,  who  was 
New  England  all  over  ;  tall,  thin,  severe,  sedate. 
She  did  n't  object  to  my  style  of  painting ;  but  all 
such  things  were  vain  frivolity  to  her,  and  the  por 
trait  was  merely  to  be  hung  in  the  rooms  of  her 
club.  All  she  wanted  was  to  get  it  over.  While  I 
was  painting  her,  I  got  acquainted  with  her  bro 
ther,  Harrison  Payne.  He  was  tall  and  thin  too  ; 
but  he  was  different.  He  had  been  brought  up, 
like  her,  with  sin  and  Sunday-schools ;  but  he 
broke  away  and  went  out  West,  when  he  was 
young,  made  a  fortune,  married  a  —  I  don't  know 
who  —  lost  her,  and  finally  came  back  to  Boston 
with  his  son,  to  live  near  his  sister." 

"  Payne  ? "  said  Morris  thoughtfully.  "  Do  I 
know  him  ?  " 

"  Your  aunt  does,  I  'm  sure.  He  was  a  railroad 
man,  a  speculator  —  is  now.  Everything  he  touches 
is  gold  —  and  it  does  him  no  more  good  than  it  did 
Midas.  He  can't  spend  money,  does  n't  know  how." 

"Lamentable  ignorance,"  murmured  Morris. 
"  Go  on.  I  feel  the  climax  approaching." 

"  He  took  a  fancy  to  me,  for  some  mysterious 
reason." 

"  Birds  of  a  feather  ?  "  suggested  the  listener, 
with  amiable  sarcasm. 

"  I  suppose  so.    Asked  me  to  dine  with  him,  to 


8  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

drive  with  him,  to  stay  with  him.  Finally,  he 
asked  me  to  take  charge  of  his  son." 

"  And  the  son  is  "  — 

"  An  oaf,  a  bumpkin,  greener  than  a  day  in 
June.  And  the  most  curious  shade  of  green  ;  for 
the  driest  sere  and  yellow  is  all  mixed  with  it.  He 
is  an  infant  of  a  hundred  and  fifty.  He  knows  ab 
solutely  nothing  of  the  world's  ways,  except  that 
he  has  the  greatest  contempt  for  them.  He  has  all 
the  vices,  but  he  is  too  mean  to  be  vicious.  As  for 
money,  he  worships  it.  You  can't  imagine  how 
shrewd  he  is  about  getting  it;  and  he  sticks  to 
it  like  glue.  Nothing  is  more  amusing  than  the 
struggle  between  his  desire  for  pleasure  and  his 
dread  of  the  cost  of  it." 

"  But,  my  friend,"  interjected  Morris,  much  in 
terested,  "  you  are  playing  a  comedy.  It  is  charm 
ing,  the  idea  of  your  tutoring  this  young  person. 
You,  a  butterfly,  who  have  always  flitted  from  one 
pretty  thing  to  another,  with  no  notion  of  what 
money  means,  or  of  ever  denying  yourself  any 
thing." 

"  Charming !  Oh,  yes,  delicious !  I  don't  always 
find  it  so  myself ;  but  he  does.  For  he  is  shrewd 
about  everything,  keen,  subtle,  with  a  mind  really 
good  for  something,  only  twisted,  distorted,  per 
verted  in  the  oddest  fashion  imaginable.  His 
mother  must  have  been  a  queer  one ;  for  his  father 
is  a  gentleman;  sharp,  rough,  crude,  but  a  true 
gentleman." 


IN  THE   ARENA  9 

"  Well,  but  what  did  he  think  you  could  make 
of  such  a  creature  ?  " 

"I  don't  know.  He  was  discouraged  and  dis 
gusted.  I  suppose  he  thought  I  had  the  few  virtues 
Edgar  has  n't  —  as  yet  —  and  that  I  might  impart 
them  to  him.  He  wanted  me  to  make  him  a  man 
of  the  world,  to  give  him  manners  and  ease  and 
polish  and  address,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  He 
said  he  wanted  me  to  keep  him  out  of  mischief 
too.  It  was  a  lovely  bit  of  irony.  It  is  he  who 
feels  bound  to  keep  me  out  of  mischief.  And  then, 
he  wanted  me  to  marry  him." 

"  To  marry  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  that  is  the  prettiest  part  of  it.  When 
Mr.  Payne  lived  in  Chicago  he  had  a  very  inti 
mate  friend,  named  Stanton.  This  Stanton  had 
an  only  daughter,  who  is  said  to  be  a  lovely  girl. 
Now,  the  two  fathers  have  always  entertained  the 
idea  of  marrying  their  children,  if  it  could  be 
brought  about.  The  Stantons  have  been  abroad 
for  two  years,  and  Mr.  Payne's  plan  was,  that  I 
should  bring  Edgar  here  to  Rome,  and  that  he 
should  meet  the  charming  Priscilla.  Then,  you 
see,  they  fall  in  love  at  once  and  the  business  is 
done." 

"  Delightful  programme  !  "  laughed  Morris. 

"  Delightful !  You  can  imagine  how  it  is  likely 
to  work  and  what  my  position  is.  Shall  I  say  to 
the  young  lady :  '  This  is  an  oaf,  beware  of  him '  ? 
Shall  I  say :  '  This  charming  youth  is  guaranteed 


10  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

to  possess  all  human  perfections.  Try  him  and  you 
will  immediately  order  another  bottle.  If  not  found 
in  every  respect  satisfactory,  the  goods  may  be 
thrown  back  on  our  hands  '  ?  " 

"  If  the  girl  is  a  sensible  girl  and  the  fellow  is 
all  you  make  him  out  to  be,  I  don't  think  you  need 
say  anything  to  her  whatever." 

"  Just  so.  And  what  am  I  to  say  to  Papa 
Payne  ?  " 

They  smoked  on  for  a  few  minutes  in  silence. 
The  sun  rose  higher,  and  the  white  clouds  and  roll 
ing  shadows  thickened.  The  Cook's  tourists  had 
long  ago  gone  the  way  of  all  such  flesh,  and  the 
red  parasol  had  flickered  itself  from  view.  Other 
varied  groups  had  wandered  in  and  out,  setting 
their  picturesque  modern  colors  against  the  gray, 
eternal  background. 

"  How  do  you  happen  to  be  here  now  ?  "  in 
quired  Morris,  at  length.  "  Why  have  n't  you  got 
your  puppy  in  leash  ?  " 

"  Heavens,  man,  don't  grudge  me  a  few  minutes' 
breathing  space  !  If  I  did  n't  get  it  occasionally,  I 
should  burst.  As  for  leash,  it  is  he  that  holds  it, 
not  I.  Just  now  he  is  writing  a  long  letter  to  his 
fond  papa,  describing  my  shortcomings  —  espe 
cially  my  extravagance.  He  can't  put  up  with  my 
extravagance.  So  I  took  the  opportunity  to  slip 
away." 

Another  pause  and  more  idle  observation  of  the 
surroundings. 


IN   THE   ARENA  11 

"  How  about  the  Countess  Markovski  ?  "  asked 
Morris,  again  breaking  the  silence. 

"  Antonia  la  bella  ?  Is  she  here  ?  Ah,  don't 
mention  her  to  me.  What  have  I  to  do  with  coun 
tesses  any  more,  and  princesses,  and  such  cattle  ? 
Does  she  ever  speak  of  me  ?  " 

"  Never." 

"  Forgotten ! " 

"  On  the  contrary,  remembered.  If  she  had  for 
gotten  you,  she  would  be  sure  to  inquire  after  you 
frequently." 

"  Ah,  I  see,  still  wise  in  the  ways  of  women." 

"  No,  my  friend,  not  Solomon,  the  typical  ami 
desfemmes,  could  boast  of  being  that ;  but  anxious 
to  learn,  anxious  to  learn." 

"  Well,  I  have  put  all  such  thoughts  behind 
me,"  said  the  troubled  tutor.  "  My  ears  are  sealed 
forever  to  the  voice  of  the  serpent.  But  I  must  be 
about  my  business.  My  precious  charge  is  wait- 
ing." 

The  artist  packed  up  his  paraphernalia ;  and  the 
two  young  men,  descending  the  steps  leisurely,  left 
the  amphitheatre,  and  made  their  way  towards  the 
Piazza  di  Spagna. 


CHAPTER  II 
MRS.  BARTON  RECEIVES 

A  FEW  days  after  the  above  interview,  Gordon  re 
ceived  cards  for  himself  and  his  charge  for  Mrs. 
Barton's  Thursday  evenings.  Mrs.  Barton  was 
Morris's  aunt.  She  was  a  stout,  elderly  personage, 
who,  at  something  over  forty,  had  married  a 
wealthy  bachelor  of  fifty-five.  After  they  had  lived 
contentedly  together  for  ten  years,  Mr.  Barton  died 
suddenly  of  pneumonia  and  left  his  wife  mistress 
of  over  half  a  million  dollars.  She  was,  therefore, 
"  rich,  fortunate,  and  jolly,"  as  old  Burton  says, 
and  set  herself  to  travel  the  remaining  stages  of 
life's  journey  with  as  much  variety  and  amusement 
as  abundant  means  and  a  good  digestion  would 
afford  her.  She  was  a  perfectly  ordinary  person, 
with  an  extraordinary  desire  to  be  thought  other 
wise,  which  was  the  most  ordinary  thing  about  her. 
She  was  inclined  to  literature,  and  had  published 
several  volumes  of  verse,  the  illustrations  of  which 
were  charming.  She  loved  also  to  appear  as  a 
female  Maecenas,  and  to  gather  around  her  such 
literary  men,  painters,  sculptors,  musicians,  etc.,  as 
liked  a  good  dinner  and  a  little  flattery,  to  be  paid 
for  in  kind.  There  were  a  few  of  this  description 


MRS.  BARTON   RECEIVES  13 

then  at  Rome,  and  I  daresay  there  are  still  —  and 
elsewhere. 

The  atmosphere  of  Mrs.  Barton's  Thursdays  was 
a  sort  of  imitation  Bohemianism.  We  respectable 
people  tasted  there  the  divine  pleasure  of  Lazarus, 
reposing  in  Abraham's  bosom  and  viewing  the 
damned  afar  off.  We  felt  that  it  was  all  just  a 
little  fast,  even  when  it  was  abominably  slow. 
Mrs.  Barton  boasted  that  her  position  was  such 
that  she  could  invite  every  one :  the  white  sheep, 
with  the  very  heaviest  fleece,  because  they  were 
the  proper  thing ;  the  black  sheep  from  pure  Chris 
tian  charity ;  and  even  a  goat  or  two  occasionally, 
since  we  all  take  more  joy  in  one  sinner  that  re- 
penteth,  or  even  that  may  repent,  than  in  ninety 
and  nine  that  have  never  gone  astray.  Mrs.  Barton 
belonged  to  that  not  uncommon  species  of  woman, 
which,  while  living  and  breathing  by  convention 
and  nothing  else,  loves  to  boast  that  it  is  emanci 
pated  from  all  social  prejudices. 

On  the  first  Thursday  evening  after  Gordon  had 
received  his  card,  Mrs.  Barton  was  sitting  in  her 
drawing-room,  ready  for  all  comers.  Her  apartment, 
on  the  Via  Sistina,  was  quietly  but  luxuriously 
furnished,  in  a  style  which  showed  preparation 
for  a  long  residence.  The  harmonious  coloring 
of  the  rooms,  the  careful  selection  of  the  pictures 
(some  of  them  hired,  to  be  sure,  but  most  obtained 
at  a  sacrifice  from  artist  friends,  for  the  good  lady 
had  a  keen  eye  to  business)  indicated  long  training, 


14  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

if  not  original  taste.  Everything  was  comfortable, 
with  that  comfort  which  only  Americans  under 
stand. 

Mrs.  Barton,  dressed  in  plain,  but  rich  black 
satin,  an  English  matron's  cap  on  her  smooth  gray 
hair,  chatted  idly  with  Dick  Morris,  pending  the 
arrival  of  guests. 

"  So  you  think  Rob  Gordon  will  come,  Richard  ?  " 

"  Come  !  Did  any  one  ever  know  him  to  stay 
away  from  good  wine  and  pretty  women  ?  " 

"  But,  this  young  fellow,  Payne  "  — 

"  This  young  fellow,  Payne,  may  come  or  he 
may  not." 

"  They  do  say  odd  things  about  him,  certainly," 
murmured  Mrs.  Barton. 

"  They  certainly  do,"  assented  her  nephew. 
"  But  nothing  half  odd  enough,  as  you  will  agree, 
when  you  see  him.  Of  all  the  dry,  hopeless,  rotten- 
before-they-'re-ripe  specimens  —  never  mind — he 
may  make  a  Roman  lion,  after  all." 

They  were  interrupted  here  by  the  entrance  of 
guests :  an  American  bishop,  with  his  wife  and 
daughter. 

Mrs.  Barton  had  traveled  with  them  in  Switzer 
land,  and  was  delighted  to  secure  them  for  one 
Thursday  at  least.  The  bishop  was  a  stout,  light- 
haired,  smooth-faced  man,  of  exceeding  affability. 
His  wife  was  null.  His  daughter  was  one  of  the  en 
ergetic  kind,  who  manage  church  fairs  and  friendly 
societies.  She  at  once  attacked  Morris  on  the  con- 


MRS.  BARTON   RECEIVES  15 

dition  of  the  poor  in  Rome,  and  sniffed  scornfully 
when  he  represented  himself  as  one  of  them. 

By  this  time  the  rooms  were  filling  up,  and  Mrs. 
Barton  was  rising  to  the  occasion.  There  were 
Americans  of  every  description.  The  millionaire 
from  the  West  elbowed  the  professor  from  Cam 
bridge.  Cool  young  men,  with  hair  parted  behind, 
and  London  clothes,  flirted  with  airy  young  ladies 
from  New  York  and  San  Francisco.  Artists  of 
every  kind  talked  humbly  about  the  weather  with 
possible  purchasers,  or  sneered  at  humanity  in  cor 
ners,  from  behind  a  single  eyeglass. 

Then  there  were  the  English ;  for  Mrs.  Barton 
had  lived  long  in  London  :  English  girls,  with  their 
stiff  backs,  and  their  haughty  "  no  trespassing  " 
expression ;  English  old  maids,  forever  hovering 
round  Romanism,  like  moths  round  a  candle,  and 
never  coming  quite  near  enough  to  singe  their 
wings ;  and  a  real  baronet,  Sir  Thomas  Shapleigh, 
with  Lady  Shapleigh.  It  was  a  joy  to  hear  the 
Americans  "  Sir  Thomasing  "  the  poor,  dull,  pom 
pous  old  man,  who  looked  as  if  he  wished  his 
smart  New  York  wife  would  let  him  go  home  to 
bed. 

There  were  foreigners  too  :  a  Pole,  with  all  the 
picturesque  beggarliness  of  that  charming  nation  ; 
several  Germans,  with  high  mustaches  and  an  opin 
ion  of  themselves  to  match ;  one  or  two  Italian 
priests,  looking  for  "  verts ; "  a  French  count,  and 
other  Frenchmen  and  Italians,  painters,  musicians, 


16  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

or  what  not,  gesticulating  furiously,  and  ogling  the 
women. 

Altogether,  it  was  a  gay  and  jovial  scene;  and 
every  moment  it  grew  more  so,  as  more  people 
came  crowding  in.  The  rooms  were  hot  and  close, 
and  the  noise  of  breezy  chatter  filled  the  air,  now 
and  then  a  sharp,  clear  laugh  ringing  high  above 
the  rest.  Little  groups  made  their  way  to  the  sup 
per-room  and  partook  of  salads,  ices,  and  cham 
pagne. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  figures  was  that  of 
a  little  old  man,  who  could  never  have  been  more 
than  five  feet  four  or  five,  and  who  was  bent  and 
bowed  so  that  he  seemed  shorter  still.  His  fine 
white  hair  waved  disorderly  about  his  high  fore 
head  ;  and  an  expression  of  childlike,  almost  saintly 
simplicity  animated  his  clean-shaven  face,  with  its 
broad,  delicate  mouth  and  deep-set  eyes.  This  was 
Mr.  Edwin  Stanton,  uncle  of  the  lady  who  was  in 
tended  for  Gordon's  precious  charge.  Uncle  Edwin, 
as  his  numerous  relatives,  and  some  who  were  not 
his  relatives,  loved  to  call  him,  was  one  of  the  most 
curious  and  delightful  objects  to  be  seen  in  that 
mixed  Roman  world.  A  Puritan  of  Puritans  by 
birth  and  early  association,  brought  up  in  the 
heart  of  New  England  abolitionism  and  transcen 
dentalism,  and  fully  partaking  of  both  these  by 
gone  fanaticisms,  he  yet  mingled  with  them  a  pecul 
iar  sensitiveness  and  delicacy,  all  his  own.  He 
would  have  blended  the  sweetness  of  Greece  with 


MRS.  BARTON   RECEIVES  17 

the  uprightness  of  Jerusalem ;  and  in  his  own  per 
son  he  instinctively  did  blend  them.  Morbidly  sen 
sitive  of  conscience,  he  was  morbidly  sensitive  in 
aesthetic  matters  also,  and  wished  that  souls  and 
bodies  both  should  be  both  good  and  beautiful.  He 
was  made  up  of  contradictions,  which  gave  him  all 
his  charm.  For  instance,  he  believed  himself  to  be, 
and  probably  was,  unsocial  and  averse  to  the  com 
pany  of  men ;  yet  no  one  had  more  friends,  no  one 
cared  more  to  see  his  friends  and  be  about  among 
them,  no  one  was  more  loyal  to  those  he  loved,  or 
more  interested  in  all  their  concerns.  Again,  no 
one  better  loved  his  home,  Concord,  and  its  broad 
fields  and  sunny  hillsides,  and  vast  meadows  stretch 
ing  out  beside  the  lazy  Musketaquid ;  yet,  when  he 
was  in  Concord,  he  always  wished  he  was  in  Rome  ; 
and,  when  he  was  in  Rome,  he  always  wished  he 
was  in  Concord.  Doubtless,  we  all  have  something 
of  that  strain  ;  but  in  few  is  it  discernible,  in  all  its 
variations,  with  such  quaint  and  adorable  simplicity. 
This  pure  and  gentle  figure  seemed  almost  piti 
fully  out  of  place  in  the  faded  splendors  and  cheap 
pretensions  of  Mrs.  Barton's  drawing-room.  Yet 
Mr.  Stanton  evidently  enjoyed  himself  hugely. 
He  traveled  from  one  group  to  another,  with  a 
peculiar,  unsteady,  ambling  gait,  which  was  very 
characteristic ;  made  some  little,  amiable  jest,  and 
then  rubbed  his  hands  together  and  chuckled. 
Everybody  greeted  him  kindly  and  smilingly,  every 
body  loved  him. 


18  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

"Mr.  Stanton,"  said  Mrs.  Barton,  catching  him 
on  one  of  his  peregrinations,  "  we  hear  that  you 
have  a  charming  niece  coming  to  Rome  shortly." 

"  I  hear  so  myself,"  was  the  genial  answer. 
"  But  I  have  never  seen  her.  Her  father  went 
West  when  he  was  quite  young.  He  has  visited  us 
at  home  from  time  to  time ;  but  Priscilla  never 
has." 

"  Well,  they  say  she  is  as  pretty  as  a  picture." 

"  She  must  get  it  from  her  mother,  then.  Good 
looks  are  not  the  strong  point  of  our  family." 

"  Fie,  Mr.  Stanton !  You  always  stand  up  for 
the  family,  you  know." 

u  I  never  like  any  one  to  abuse  them  but  my 
self."  And  the  old  gentleman  put  his  hands  on 
his  hips,  leaned  back,  and  smiled,  in  a  pleasant 
way  he  had. 

At  this  point  Gordon  was  seen  making  his  way 
through  the  crowd  toward  Mrs.  Barton,  followed 
by  a  personage  who  was  unmistakably  his  pupil. 
It  was  an  odd-looking  youth  certainly.  Tall,  heavy, 
and  with  a  slight  stoop  about  the  shoulders,  his 
figure  was  not  otherwise  remarkable  ;  but  his  face 
was  very  peculiar.  The  skin  had  a  dry,  withered 
parchment  look,  like  faded  beech  leaves  in  autumn. 
The  features,  while  not  really  abnormal,  were  all 
distorted  and  contracted;  more,  it  seemed,  as  the 
result  of  a  distorted  spirit  within,  than  from  any 
actual,  external  defect.  The  eyes,  especially,  seemed 
strained  with  a  cunning  squint  of  corkscrew  pene- 


MRS.  BARTON   RECEIVES  19 

tration,  which  suggested  that  their  proprietor  was 
always  on  the  watch  against  being  taken  in.  They 
jumped  restlessly  hither  and  thither,  behind  a  pair 
of  large  glasses  ;  and,  above  them,  the  narrow  fore 
head  was  wrinkled,  as  if  with  perpetual  anxious  in 
terrogation.  The  whole  was  crowned  with  a  limp 
spread  of  thin,  fine,  colorless  hair. 

It  is  impossible  to  imagine  a  greater  contrast 
than  that  between  this  hopeless  specimen  and  the 
tutor,  with  his  tall,  graceful  figure,  frank,  sweet, 
merry,  sympathetic  countenance,  and  laughing  blue 
eyes.  And  the  effect  of  the  natural  contrast  was 
immensely  heightened  by  Gordon's  comic  anxiety 
and  the  distressed  glances  which  he  occasionally 
cast  at  the  image  of  black  care  pressing  on  behind 
him. 

Mrs.  Barton  watched  their  approach  with  great 
interest  and  amusement,  and  advanced  a  few  steps 
to  meet  them. 

"  How  nice  of  you  to  come  to  me  immediately, 
Mr.  Gordon." 

"Wasn't  it?"  agreed  Gordon,  "that  is,  all 
things  considered.  Mrs.  Barton,  allow  me  to  pre 
sent  my  young  friend,  Mr.  Payne." 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Payne,"  said  the  lady, 
extending  her  hand  in  gracious  fashion. 

"  How  d'  ye  do,"  responded  the  gentleman  gruffly, 
keeping  his  hand  close  to  his  side,  and  gazing  about 
the  room.  "Rather  fast  lot  you've  got  here, 
have  n't  you?" 


20  THE  PRIVATE   TUTOR 

Mrs.  Barton  squirmed ;  but,  after  all,  why  should 
she  allow  such  an  animal  to  disturb  her  ?  "  I  be 
lieve  you  will  see  all  sorts  of  people  in  my  rooms, 
Mr.  Payne,"  she  answered.  "  Some,  who  would 
hardly  get  here  on  their  own  merits,  are  tolerated 
for  the  sake  of  their  friends." 

If  she  thought  this  mild  shaft  would  penetrate 
the  rhinoceros's  hide,  she  was  sadly  mistaken. 

"  I  judged  there  were  a  good  many  here  who 
could  n't  get  in  anywhere  else,"  said  he. 

During  this  exchange  of  repartee,  Gordon  stood 
by  in  mild  misery.  "  My  young  friend  has  not  been 
about  in  the  world  very  much,  Mrs.  Barton,"  he 
.remarked,  at  length.  "  You  must  pardon  some 
thing  to  his  inherent  idealism." 

"  Oh !  his  inherent  idealism !  "  Mrs.  Barton 
echoed. 

"  That 's  just  like  Gordon,"  interrupted  Payne. 
"  He  thinks  my  father  hired  him  to  apologize  for 
me  everywhere." 

"  It  would  be  the  thirteenth  labor  of  Hercules," 
murmured  the  tutor,  while  his  pupil's  eyes  were 
again  traveling  about  the  room. 

But  Mrs.  Barton  turned  to  uncle  Edwin,  who 
had  been  standing  near,  looking  on  rather  curi 
ously.  "  Come,  Mr.  Stanton,  here  is  Mr.  Gordon, 
whom  you  surely  know,  and  a  young  man  who,  I 
believe,  is  looking  forward  to  meeting  your  niece. 
Mr.  Stanton  —  Mr.  Payne." 

Gordon    and   the   old  gentleman  shook  hands, 


MRS.  BARTON   RECEIVES  21 

as  old  acquaintances.  Payne  nodded  disdainfully. 
Then,  glancing  toward  a  corner  of  the  apartment, 
he  said  :  "  That 's  a  fine  girl  over  there.  I  wish 
some  one  would  introduce  me  to  her." 

Mrs.  Barton  looked.  The  young  lady  was  from 
Buffalo,  large,  black-haired,  black-eyed,  showy, 
loud.  "  After  all,  his  father  is  worth  fifty  millions," 
thought  the  hostess,  "  and  Miss  Porter  is  not  par 
ticular.  Besides,  she  can  talk  even  him  dead  in 
twenty-five  minutes.  I  shall  be  doing  her  a  kind 
ness."  So  she  took  the  young  gallant  in  tow,  and 
deposited  him  safely  beside  Miss  Porter  of  Buffalo, 
who  had  heard  of  him  and  the  fifty  millions,  and 
consequently  condescended  to  take  part  in  a  little 
graceful  badinage,  on  the  universal  superiority  of 
America,  and  the  ruin,  dirt,  and  general  beastliness 
of  Rome. 

Meantime,  Gordon,  glad  of  a  moment's  respite, 
chatted  pleasantly  with  Mr.  Stanton. 

"  You  know  my  niece  ?  "  asked  the  latter  gen 
tleman. 

"  I  have  not  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  her 
myself  ;  but  her  father  and  Mr.  Payne  senior  are 
very  old  friends,  and  Mr.  Payne  was  anxious  that 
his  son  should  meet  -them  here.  I  am  told  they 
are  charming  people." 

"  I  have  never  yet  seen  Priscilla ;  but  I  look 
forward  to  it  with  great  interest.  Mr.  Payne  sen 
ior  is  Harrison  Payne,  I  suppose  ?  I  knew  him,  but 
I  never  met  the  son  before.  He  seems  a  little  "  — 


22  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

"  Peculiar,"  interrupted  Gordon.  "  You  think 
so?  Other  people  have  noticed  it  too." 

"Why,"  answered  Mr.  Stanton,  in  his  mild 
way,  "  perhaps  a  little  more  contact  with  the 
world,  a  little  more  polish  "  — 

"  Yes,  polish  is  the  word,  —  polish.  About  a 
thousand  years  of  continual  attrition,  with  the 
highest  grade  of  Sapolio  —  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Stan- 
ton.  It  is  my  nature  to  be  frank  ;  it  is  my  condi 
tion  to  be  tongue-tied ;  but  nature  generally  pre 
vails  with  me." 

Mr.  Stanton  smiled  a  vague  smile,  as  one  does 
on  receiving  a  confidence  one  does  not  know  what 
to  do  with,  and  changed  the  subject.  "  Ah  !  "  said 
he,  "  there  is  the  Countess  Markovski." 


CHAPTEK  III 
THE   COUNTESS  MARKOVSKI 

A  FRIEND  of  mine,  whose  son  had  married  a  young 
woman  from  Porto  Kico,  consoled  herself  with  the 
remark  that  her  daughter-in-law  was  part  French, 
part  Spanish,  part  Portuguese,  and  part  English, 
but  she  was  white.  The  Countess  Markovski  was 
white,  that  is  to  say,  she  was  Caucasian,  though 
the  white  was  of  a  rather  brunettish  description  ; 
but  to  what  nationality,  or  to  how  many  nationali 
ties,  she  might  have  belonged,  had  never  been  re 
vealed  to  man  or  woman,  least  of  all,  probably,  to 
the  late  Count  Markovski,  if  such  a  Count  there 
ever  were.  We  hear  much  of  the  woman  with  a 
past.  The  Countess  Markovski  had  the  credit  of 
so  many  of  them  that  they  clustered  round  her 
with  a  sort  of  kaleidoscopic  blur,  and  produced 
on  the  profane  the  effect  of  an  unsaintly  halo  about 
her  head.  If  you  listened  to  her  own  version  of 
them,  recounted  with  sweet  suavity  and  naive  grace, 
they  seemed  like  legends  of  the  Madonna.  If  her 
lady  acquaintances  narrated  them,  Medusa  had  not 
a  more  hissing  coronal. 

The  Countess  Markovski  was  still  young,  and 


24  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

she  was  certainly  beautiful.  She  was  tall  and 
slight ;  datk  eyes,  dark  hair,  long,  narrow  face,  of 
the  kind  that  seems  best  described  as  fox-like. 
But  her  charm  was  in  her  carriage  and  manner. 
There  was  something  willowy  and  serpentine  about 
her,  undulating,  a  perpetual  movement,  not  ner 
vous  or  restless,  but  flowing,  graceful,  restful. 
Her  eyes,  every  feature  of  her  face,  were  full  of 
constant,  mobile  responsiveness.  She  seemed  to 
anticipate  your  thoughts  and  adapt  her  own  to 
them,  before  they  were  uttered.  She  had  a  wonder 
ful  frankness  and  simplicity,  wonderful  in  such  a 
creature,  for  they  seemed  perfectly  genuine,  even 
to  a  careful  observer.  Indeed,  they  were  genuine. 
The  woman  was  an  adventuress,  and  no  one 
doubted  it.  She  knew  no  moral  law  and  had  no 
moral  sense.  The  minute  you  were  out  of  her  pre 
sence  you  were  as  certain  of  these  things  as  of 
the  light  of  day.  But  it  seemed  as  if  they  were 
forced  upon  her  by  some  external  evil  necessity ; 
while  her  real  nature  had  the  immortal  grace  and 
freshness  of  a  child's.  The  struggle  between  the 
two  elements  of  her  character  gradually  told  upon 
her,  however ;  and  as  Gordon  watched  her  make 
her  graceful  way  through  Mrs.  Barton's  drawing- 
room,  he  thought  that,  in  some  indefinable  fashion, 
she  had  lost  just  a  little,  oh,  so  little,  of  what  she 
was  when  he  knew  her,  three  years  before.  The 
grace  was  just  a  grain  less  spontaneous,  the  charm 
a  thought  less  natural ;  though  no  one  would  have 


THE  COUNTESS   MARKOVSKI  25 

observed  it  who  had  not  known  both  grace  and 
charm  by  heart. 

Mrs.  Barton,  after  depositing  Payne  with  Miss 
Porter,  had  returned  to  her  central  position,  near 
Gordon.  He  had,  therefore,  a  full  view  of  the 
Countess's  meeting  with  her  hostess. 

"  O  Mrs.  Barton,"  she  cried,  "  how  delightfully 
comfortable  your  American  gatherings  always  are, 
like  one  great  family,  you  know,  no  stiffness  or 
formality."  She  spoke  perfect  English,  but  with 
just  a  hint  of  accent  —  some  accent.  Her  French, 
her  German,  her  Italian  had  the  same  touch  of 
foreign  color,  and  a  Polish  friend  once  told  me  that 
her  speech  in  his  language  had  the  same  :  it  was  a 
quaint,  strange,  murmuring  burr,  which  seemed  to 
make  the  tongue  of  every  race,  not  theirs,  but  hers. 

"Your  compliments  are  sweet,  Countess,"  re 
plied  Mrs.  Barton,  "always  sweet;  but  can  one 
trust  you?" 

"  Trust  me  ?  "  with  an  expression  of  injured 
frankness  delightful  to  behold.  "  If  not  me,  whom 
can  you  trust  ?  " 

"  Whom  indeed  ?  "  answered  the  American  lady 
calmly.  "  And  you  are  not  saying  to  yourself  all 
the  while :  '  These  Americans,  with  their  crude 
manners,  their  off-hand  speech,  their  loud  laughter, 
when  will  they  ever  learn  the  quiet  dignity  of  the 
old  world '  ?  " 

"  And  I,  who  have  never  been  quiet  and  never 
been  dignified !  Do  not  talk  of  the  old  world  to 


26  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

me.  I  love  the  new  world,  with  all  its  vigor  and 
its  freshness,  with  more  life  than  it  knows  how  to 
manage.  Over  here  we  can't  get  life  enough." 
Then  she  turned  to  Gordon,  who  was  watching 
her.  "  So  it  is  you,  my  friend.  Back  again  in 
Rome  once  more  ?  I  thought,  when  you  left  us  last 
year,  it  was  forever." 

"  Three  years  ago,  Countess.    That  is  forever 

—  to  be  absent  from  —  Rome." 

Mrs.  Barton  had  slipped  away.  The  Countess 
settled  herself  on  a  sofa  ;  and  Gordon  stood  beside 
her,  leaning  over  slightly,  with  the  grace  that  was 
natural  to  him. 

"  Rome  !  "  echoed  the  lady,  with  an  expression  of 
scorn.  "  I  don't  know  why  we  all  congregate  here. 
It  is  old  and  dirty  and  desolate,  and  it  seems  as 
if  we  were  perpetually  assisting  at  the  funeral  of 
something  or  other.  Those  old  Greeks  and  Ro 
mans  —  we  bury  them  first.  And  then  the  early 
Christians  —  they  go  down  into  the  grave  next, 
martyrs  and  apostles  and  all.  And  then  the  Mid 
dle-Age  popes  and  cardinals  —  they  were  wickedly 
picturesque,  to  be  sure,  but  they  are  dead  too,  dead 

—  nothing  left  of  it  all  but  bones  and  dust.   Ah !  " 
She  muttered  all  this  half  to  herself,  with  an  ex 
pression  of  real,  visual  horror ;  and  Gordon  watched 
her  with  fascinated  curiosity. 

"  You  are  melancholy,  Countess,"  he  said. 
"  What  has  happened  to  you  ?  You  used  to  laugh 
all  day  long." 


THE   COUNTESS   MARKOVSKI  27 

"  Oh,  yes,  laugh !  How  long  ago  did  you  say 
that  was  ?  Thirty  years  ?  See  !  My  hair  is  getting 
gray,  and  the  wrinkles  are  deep,  and  I  suppose  I 
have  got  to  go  after  those  martyrs  and  apostles 
too ;  only  I  shall  go  with  the  wicked  popes  and 
cardinals.  I  don't  wish  to ;  this  hideous  death-mask 
of  Rome  gets  on  my  nerves." 

"  Really,  you  ought  to  talk  to  my  pupil  about 
Rome.  He  feels  just  as  you  do." 

"  Your  pupil !  "  she  cried,  sitting  up  and  shift 
ing  at  once  from  abandoned  despair  to  intense 
curiosity.  "  Your  pupil !  I  've  heard  of  him.  Rich, 
is  he  not?  And  an  original,  is  he  not?  Nai've, 
simple,  the  untutored  savage,  etc.,  etc.  ?  " 

Gordon  shrugged  his  shoulders  at  all  these 
queries.  "  Rich  he  is.  Original  —  if  you  like. 
About  as  naive  as  a  Jew  old-clothes  dealer,  and 
simpler.  But  do  not  slander  the  untutored  savage. 
Here  he  comes.  May  I  present  him  to  you  ?  " 

Edgar  had  discussed  the  charms  of  America  and 
the  tiresomeness  of  Rome  for  some  time,  to  his  own 
satisfaction,  and,  apparently,  to  Miss  Porter's.  At 
any  rate,  that  young  lady  had  echoed  him  with 
much  complaisance  and  seeming  sympathy.  Per 
haps  her  previous  knowledge  of  her  interlocutor 
and  of  his  father's  fortune  assisted  a  little  in  keep 
ing  her  under  the  charm.  But,  all  at  once,  Edgar 
looked  up  and  saw  his  tutor  conversing  with  the 
Countess. 

"  By  Jove !  "  he  cried.   "  Who 's  Gordon  got  hold 


28  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

of  now?  That's  a  swell,  isn't  it?  He  needn't 
think  he  's  paid  to  talk  to  women  like  that,  while 
I  look  on." 

"  And  talk  to  me  ?  "  inquired  Miss  Porter,  a 
little  acidly.  But  the  young  man  had  already  left 
her  standing  by  herself,  without  listening  to  the 
explanation  she  would  gladly  have  offered  him  as 
to  the  dark  stranger. 

"Allow  me  to  present  my  young  friend,  Mr. 
Payne,  Countess,"  began  Gordon.  "Edgar,  this 
is  the  Countess  Markovski." 

It  was  the  young  barbarian's  first  encounter 
with  a  title,  and  he  really  bowed  quite  low  in  re 
sponse  to  the  lady's  gracious  smile. 

"  Mr.  Gordon  tells  me  you  don't  like  Rome," 
said  the  Countess. 

"  No,  ma'am,  I  don't.  That 's  true  enough.  But 
you  must  n't  believe  everything  Gordon  tells  you 
about  me." 

"  Really  ?  I  have  always  thought  Mr.  Gordon  a 
very  truthful  person." 

"And  you  look  pretty  sharp,  too,"  observed 
the  youth,  in  a  tone  in  which  disgust  and  admira 
tion  were  obviously  mingled. 

"  Mr.  Gordon,  your  character  is  attacked.  Can't 
you  protect  yourself  ?  " 

"  No,  Countess.  I  leave  it  in  your  hands,  and 
may  Heaven  defend  the  right."  The  tutor  turned 
on  his  heel  and  walked  off. 

The  Countess's  manner,  which  had  been  a  bit 


THE  COUNTESS  MARKOVSKI     29 

chilly  and  external  hitherto,  warmed  gently  and 
almost  imperceptibly.  It  seemed  as  if  a  vague  at 
mosphere  of  tenderness  and  grace  flowed  from  her 
every  look  and  gesture.  "  Sit  down  by  me,  Mr. 
Payne,"  she  said,  "  and  tell  me  why  you  don't  like 
Rome  and  why  you  long  to  be  back  in  your  own 
far  country.  Do  you  know,  I  believe  we  feel  a 
little  alike?  Rome  wearies  me  too.  I  hunger  for 
something  fresh  and  strong  and  real." 

He  sat  down  by  her  and  wondered  how  he  could 
feel  easy  and  at  home  with  a  countess.  "  That 's 
it,  ma'am,"  he  began. 

"  Don't  call  me  ma'am,"  she  interrupted.  "  When 
you  speak  to  a  person  with  a  title,  you  should  say, 
4  Countess,'  or  '  Prince,'  or  what  not.  You  don't 
mind  my  advising  you  in  this  frank  way  ?  " 

"  Mind  it,  Countess  ?  "  And  the  cold  green  eyes 
were  fixed  on  her  with  a  look  of  astonished  admira 
tion.  He  had  never  been  talked  to  like  this  before. 
What  did  it  mean  ? 

"  I  hoped  you  would  n't,"  she  said,  and  went  on 
speaking  with  a  low,  indescribable  murmur,  which 
lured  him  away  from  his  usual  boorish  loquacity. 
"  I  hoped  you  would  n't ;  because  ever  since  I 
heard  that  you  did  n't  like  this  tedious  old  world  I 
have  felt  drawn  to  you,  if  you  don't  mind  my  say 
ing  so.  You  can  feel  with  me  how  foolish  these 
people  are  to  waste  their  money  in  coming  way 
over  here  and  falling  down  before  stocks  and 
stones." 


30  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

"  By  Jove,  they  do  waste  their  money !  "  was 
the  approving  comment. 

"And  what  for?"  she  went  on,  in  the  same 
strange  tone,  monotonous,  yet  musical,  "  what  for  ? 
AJways  the  past,  the  dead,  hoary,  dusty  past.  Give 
me  the  present,  give  me  life,  not  death.  I  want 
change,  I  want  movement,  hurrying,  shifting, 
wearying,  blinding  movement,  never  to  rest  —  rest 
is  death.  But  I  must  seem  quite  distracted  —  a 
stranger,  too."  She  dropped  her  intimate  grace 
and  chilled  again. 

"  Go  on  !  Go  on  !"  he  cried.  "  You  talk  just 
like  a  book.  Why  don't  you  come  to  America? 
This  is  n't  the  place  for  you.  Everything  moves 
there  and  everybody.  I  never  lived  in  the  same 
house  two  years.  If  you  want  change,  why  not  try 
the  stock  market  ?  Did  you  ever  ?  There 's  no 
thing  like  it." 

"  Stock  market  ?  " 

"  Exchange,  Bourse,  they  call  it  here.  It 's  great, 
I  tell  you.  My  father  made  his  money  that  way. 
And  I  Ve  done  a  little  at  it  myself." 

"  You?    How  clever  you  must  be,  at  your  age." 

"  I  'm  not  so  young,  you  know  ;  I  tell  you  I 
worked  consolidated  lead  for  the  dollars  last  spring. 
I  heard  father  talking  about  a  big  bear  deal  that 
was  on,  and  I  went  short  for  a  hundred  shares. 
That 's  big  for  me.  It  was  great.  There  was  one 
time  my  heart  was  in  my  boots ;  but  out  she  came 
with  a  big  profit." 


THE   COUNTESS   MARKOVSKI  31 

"  Does  Mr.  Gordon  take  an  interest  in  the 
stock  market  ?  " 

"  Gordon !  He  does  n't  know  a  ticker  from  a 
telephone.  I  don't  believe  he  ever  was  in  a  bucket- 
shop  in  his  life.  Gordon  !  Now  I  '11  tell  you  some 
thing"— 

Just  then  Mr.  Stanton  came  trotting  up  to  the 
Countess.  Nothing  could  be  more  curious  than  his 
attitude  toward  that  lady.  He  had  known  her  in 
Rome  and  elsewhere  for  several  years;  and  she 
always  treated  him  with  a  gentle  deference  and 
sympathy  that  completely  won  his  heart.  She  lis 
tened  with  reverential  interest  to  stories  about  his 
dear  anti-slavery  heroes,  and  paid  for  them  with 
others,  not  true,  but  admirably  well-invented,  about 
the  martyrs  of  Polish  liberty.  He  had  heard  all 
the  scandal  regarding  her  ;  but  he  never  believed 
anything  against  his  friends  ;  and,  indeed,  he  had 
that  beautiful  wisdom  of  the  children  of  light, 
which  the  children  of  this  world  call  folly,  and 
which  consists  in  being  unwilling  to  believe  evil  of 
any  one. 

Now,  as  he  came  up  to  the  two  sitting  on  the 
sofa,  Payne  leaned  back  and  stared  at  the  intruder 
with  a  frown ;  but  the  Countess  rose  quickly  and 
advanced  a  step  forward. 

"  O  Mr.  Stanton  !  You  in  Rome  again  ?  How 
lovely.  Just  in  time  to  tell  me  all  about  the  new 
discoveries  and  those  fascinating  things  they  have 
been  digging  up  in  the  Forum."  You  would  think 


32  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

she  really  loved  and  reverenced  the  old  man  ;  and 
I  have  no  doubt  she  did. 

"How  do  you  do,  Countess?  I'm  afraid  you 
can't  make  me  believe  that  young  ladies  like  you 
care  for  ruins  and  archeology.  Leave  that  for  the 
human  ruins." 

"  How  can  you  speak  so  ?  As  if  you  were  not 
much,  much  younger  than  I !  Love  and  joy  and 
hope  cannot  be  touched  by  years." 

This  was  not  the  sort  of  thing  that  Payne  cared 
for  ;  and  he  even  stared  at  the  Countess  in  amaze 
ment  ;  for  she  seemed  like  a  different  being  from 
the  one  who  had  just  murmured  low  and  sweetly 
in  his  ear.  Her  manner  now  was  so  frank  and 
genuine  and  cordial,  more  that  of  a  man  greeting 
an  old  and  respected  teacher  than  that  of  a  subtle 
coquette.  This  change  was  wholly  annoying  to  the 
embryo  stock  speculator,  and  he  rose  awkwardly, 
turned,  and  was  moving  away. 

"  O  Mr.  Payne,"  called  the  Countess  to  him 
gently,  "don't  forget  to  come  and  see  me.  Via 
Ludovisi  24.  I  want  to  hear  more  of  what  you 
were  telling  me." 

Payne  muttered  something  inaudible,  as  he 
walked  off. 

"  I  hope  I  have  n't  interrupted  a  serious  conver 
sation,"  said  Mr.  Stan  ton  smiling. 

"  Oh,  dear,  no.  Some  of  your  countrymen  are 
so  odd.  Come  now,  Mr.  Stanton,  sit  down  and  tell 
me  what  you  have  been  doing  all  this  long  while." 


THE   COUNTESS  MARKOVSKI  33 

Meantime,  Payne  wandered  off  to  seek  his  tutor ; 
but  he  was  some  time  in  finding  him ;  for  Gordon 
had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  Dick  Morris  and  half 
a  dozen  other  young  people,  some  known  to  him  and 
others  not,  who  had  carried  him  off  to  the  little 
music  room,  shut  the  door,  and  commanded  him  to 
sing  the  latest  comic  song  from  home. 

"  But  I  came  away  three  months  ago ;  and  I 
don't  know  anything  that  is  n't  as  passe  as  a  last 
Easter  bonnet." 

"  Oh,  but  most  of  us  are  wearing  our  last  Easter 
bonnets." 

"  Besides,  I  get  all  my  songs  from  the  Music 
Halls,  and  very  many  of  them  are  —  not  fit  to 
be  sung  in  the  presence  of  ladies." 

"  But  in  Italy,  you  know,  —  besides,  all  we 
care  for  is  the  music." 

So  they  dragged  him  to  the  piano ;  and  he  gave 
them  song  after  song,  of  the  somewhat  dubious 
quality  characteristic  of  the  variety  stage  at  pre 
sent  ;  while  the  young  ladies  and  gentlemen  nearly 
went  into  convulsions,  simply  because  of  his  manner 
of  doing  it.  For  he  sang  the  vulgar  stuff  with  a  touch 
of  refinement  that  made  it  inimitably  droll.  His  fin 
gers  strayed  over  the  keys,  striking  a  tender  chord 
here  and  there.  Now  and  then  he  wiped  his  hands 
with  his  handkerchief,  laying  it  on  the  rack  beside 
him,  after  the  fashion  of  great  pianists.  And  he  ram 
bled  from  one  scrap  of  nonsense  to  another,  with 
the  perfect  ease  which  gave  his  every  act  a  charm. 


34  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

But  just  as  he  reached  the  second  stanza  of 
"  There  '11  be  whiskey  at  Mullaly's  wake  to-night," 
the  door  opened  in  front  of  him,  and  Payne  in 
truded  his  visage  of  dashed  interrogation.  Gor 
don's  drollery  went  out,  like  an  electric  light.  He 
finished  the  stanza,  but  in  a  style  as  dead  as  the 
matter  merited.  Then  he  stood  up. 

"  Well,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  the  concert  will 
be  continued  another  time,  with  new  and  fresh  airs, 
and  innumerable  variations.  Ready  to  go  home, 
Edgar?" 

"  Yes,"  muttered  Edgar  gruffly,  and  walked  off. 
Gordon  followed  him,  just  turning  on  the  wonder 
ing  company  a  glance  of  humorous  disgust. 


CHAPTER  IV 
OFF  WITH  THE  OLD  LOVE 

GORDON  was  naturally  of  a  most  placid  and  ami 
able  disposition  ;  but  for  that  very  reason,  when  he 
was  irritated  he  had  little  power  of  controlling 
himself.  Now  it  would  have  been  impossible  for 
any  saint  in  Heaven  to  live  with  such  a  creature 
as  Edgar  Payne  and  not  to  lose  his  temper  irre 
coverably.  The  tutor  was,  therefore,  in  a  constant 
state  of  mild  exasperation,  which  broke  out  at 
every  opportunity. 

"  How  can  you  expect  me  to  take  you  about 
with  me  anywhere,  when  you  behave  as  you  have 
this  evening  ?  "  asked  he,  as  they  walked  rapidly 
homeward,  through  the  quiet  streets. 

"  Don't  expect  you  to  take  me  everywhere.  I 
can  take  myself  about." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  your  father  expects  me  to." 

"  My  father  had  better  stick  to  the  stock  mar 
ket.  He  's  good  at  that.  The  worst  speculation  he 
ever  got  into  was  you." 

"  Very  likely." 

They  went  on  for  a  while  in  silence.  Their  lodg 
ings  were  near  the  Porta  Pia,  which  gave  them  a 
good  deal  of  walking,  when  they  did  not  care  to 


36  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

use  the  tram.  Gordon'  had  objected  to  this  and 
would  have  preferred  the  older  part  of  the  city  ; 
but  the  rooms  were  comfortable  and  a  bargain,  and 
Payne  had  insisted  on  taking  them. 

"  That  was  a  queer  crowd  she  had  there,"  began 
Payne,  at  length.    The  recollection  of  the  Countess 
warmed  his  heart  to  unusual  communicativeness. 
"  There  were  all  sorts  of  people,  of  course." 
"  Oh,  all  sorts  of  people  —  yes  —  I  think  so. 
Come,  Gordy,  you  can't  fool  me,  you  know.    You 
think  I  have  n't  been  about  much  ;  but  I  can  tell 
a  tough  when  I  see  him.    That 's  just  the  kind  I 
can  tell." 

"  Well,  I  allow,  there  's  something  in  that." 
"  None  of   your   insinuations.    You  're  just  as 
tough  as  I  am  ;  only  you  cover  it  up  with  that 
slick  manner  of  yours.    I  see  through  you,  as  if 
you  were  an  opera-glass." 
"  I  dare  say." 

"  As  for  Mrs.  Barton  herself,  she  knows  a  thing 
or  two.  And  that  Countess  —  what  did  they  call 
her  ?  " 

"  Markovski,  you  mean  ?  " 
"  I  suppose  so.    I  say,  what  is  she,  now  ?  " 
"  You  must  ask  somebody  that  knows." 
"  I  guess  you  know ;  but  I  can  find  out  without 
your  telling  me." 

"  She  is  a  lady  who  would  make  no  more  of  eat 
ing  you  up  than  a  first-class  royal  Bengal  tiger 
would." 


OFF  WITH  THE  OLD  LOVE     37 

"  Oh,  ho !  Hear  the  man.  He  thinks  I  'm  so 
green,  and  I  'm  as  wise  as  Solomon  compared  to 
him.  Eat  me  up !  That  has  been  tried  before,  my 
friend ;  and  it  did  n't  work.  Eat  me  up  !  " 

Kesentment  at  this  cannibal  suggestion  kept  the 
young  gentleman  so  occupied  that  he  entered  his 
apartment  without  even  a  good-night. 

The  interview  with  the  Countess  Markovski  had 
carried  Gordon  back  three  years  and  touched  the 
memory  of  the  deepest  feelings  he  had  ever  known. 
At  that  time,  almost  a  boy  and  utterly  ignorant  of 
her  true  character,  he  had  loved  this  woman,  had 
given  her  the  purest  and  most  ideal  devotion  that 
he  was  capable  of,  and  had  asked  her  to  marry 
him,  although  he  was  perfectly  unable  to  support 
even  himself,  let  alone  a  wife.  She  had  laughed 
at  him  a  little,  caressed  him  a  little,  loved  him  a 
little,  half  accepted  him,  at  least  he  thought  so. 
Then,  one  day  when  he  returned  to  Rome  after  a 
short  trip  to  Naples,  he  found  her  gone,  vanished, 
not  a  word  or  sign  left  to  comfort  him.  What  he 
heard  of  her  afterwards,  when  he  had  come  to  his 
senses,  made  him  appreciate  his  good  luck ;  but  he 
still  cherished  the  memory,  not  of  her,  but  of  his 
own  love  for  her. 

Under  these  circumstances,  their  meeting  had 
impressed  him  strangely,  half  painfully.  She  seemed 
the  same  woman  and  yet  another.  His  first  im 
pulse  was  to  avoid  her  as  much  as  possible,  to  keep 
the  memory  of  the  vanished  ideal  clear  and  sacred. 


38  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

Yet,  at  the  same  time,  lie  was  teased  by  that  odd 
curiosity  which  leads  us  to  probe  old  wounds,  which 
makes  it  a  pleasure  to  talk  over  past  loves  with  the 
objects  of  them,  to  say,  if  you  had  done  so  and  I 
had  done  so,  it  would  have  all  been  different.  That 
he  should  again  love  the  Countess  Markovski 
hardly  occurred  to  him  as  possible.  Did  he  wish 
to  see  her  and  tell  her  so  ?  He  did  not  know.  This 
state  of  uncertainty  continued  for  a  few  days,  but 
was  sharply  terminated  by  the  receipt  of  a  small 
perfumed  note,  with  a  black  coronet,  hinting  that 
courtesy  required  of  him  a  speedy  visit  to  No.  24 
Via  Ludovisi.  What  could  he  do  but  act  on  the 
hint  at  once? 

Everything  about  the  Countess's  dwelling  sug 
gested  mystery,  as  she  herself  did.  The  servants 
were  all  dressed  in  black  and  seemed  exceptionally 
still  and  unobtrusive.  The  rooms,  without  being  in 
the  least  dismal,  were  full  of  dim  corners  and  cur 
tained  recesses,  shadowy,  even  in  the  bright  after 
noons.  The  pictures  and  books  seemed  old  and 
quiet.  The  sense  of  indefinable,  languorous  rest- 
fulness  which  accompanied  the  mistress,  even  when 
she  was  most  animated,  extended  itself  to  every 
corner  of  her  habitation.  It  was  not  in  this  special 
place  that  Gordon  had  known  her  before.  No  face 
of  the  servants,  no  bit  of  furniture  or  picture  on 
the  walls,  came  back  to  him  as  an  actual  memory. 
Yet  as  he  entered  the  door  he  felt  at  home.  The 
strangely  personal  atmosphere  was  what  he  had 


OFF  WITH  THE  OLD  LOVE     39 

known  so  well  in  days  gone  by.  As  be  sat  in  the 
salon,  waiting  for  his  hostess  to  appear,  be  leaned 
back  with  his  eyes  closed ;  and  it  seemed  to  him 
that  the  past  three  years  were  but  a  dream. 

He  heard  the  faint  rustle  of  garments  behind 
him  and  rose  quickly.  The  Countess  was  dressed 
in  black.  She  was  always  dressed  in  black,  except 
for  a  single  bit  of  bright  color,  now  in  one  spot, 
now  in  another.  This  time  it  was  a  small  dark 
red  bow  at  her  throat.  She  wore  no  jewels  but  her 
wedding  ring  and  on  the  same  finger  one  large  opal, 
which  shimmered  and  sparkled  in  the  dim  light. 
Again  and  again  this  flicker  of  vague  brilliance 
would  draw  your  eyes  to  the  long,  white,  sinuous 
fingers,  which  were  never  at  rest. 

She  greeted  Gordon  with  a  brief  word,  then, 
without  speaking  further,  sat  down  on  a  sofa,  and 
motioned  him  to  the  corner  beside  her.  There  was 
no  smile  at  all  on  her  face ;  just  a  look  of  grave 
and  far-away  abstraction. 

Gordon  watched  her  for  a  second  with  curious 
interest.  It  was  painful,  but  fascinating  to  appre 
ciate  now  as  wonderfully  clever,  even  if  only  half- 
conscious  acting,  all  those  varying  moods  and  atti 
tudes  and  gestures  which  he  remembered  so  well 
and  which  had  imposed  so  perfectly  on  his  inex 
perienced  innocence.  The  art  was  so  subtle  and  so 
delicate  that  he  was  not  in  the  least  surprised  at 
having  been  entrapped  —  nor  ashamed  of  it. 

"  Well,"  he  began,  at  length.    "  Here  I  am." 


40  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

She  turned  and  looked  him  full  in  the  face  with 
sudden,  bitter  animation.  "  Yes,"  she  said.  "  Here 
you  are.  And  you  think  I  sent  for  you.  And  you 
think  I  wanted  you.  And  you  don't  know  whether 
to  love  me  or  not.  And  you  wonder  whether  I  love 
you.  I  wonder  too.  I  wanted  to  find  out." 

"  The  faculty  of  divination  has  descended  upon 
you,  O  fair  Antonia." 

She  crossed  her  hands  about  her  knee,  leaned 
forward,  and  gazed  at  him  intently.  His  eyes  trav 
eled  from  hers  down  to  the  opal  and  back  again. 

"  No,"  she  murmured,  "  I  hardly  think  so ; 
I  hardly  think  so.  Have  you  changed  much? 
Have  n't  you  grown  hard  and  cynical  and  scorn 
ful?  Oh,  I  have.  I  am  all  those  things.  You 
need  n't  laugh  at  me.  But  you  were  so  different, 
so  sweet,  and  fresh,  and  gentle.  You  could  n't  be 
like  that  always;  and  that  was  what  I  loved  in 
you.  Well,  never  mind.  Let  us  leave  all  that  now. 
Tell  me  about  yourself  and  what  you  have  been 
doing."  She  settled  back  into  the  corner  of  the 
sofa,  and  looked  at  him,  with  the  cold  indifference 
of  a  society  belle,  making  the  same  request  of  a 
long-lost  acquaintance. 

"  What  have  I  been  doing  ?  Nothing.  Nothing 
useful,  at  any  rate."  The  Countess  made  a  slight 
gesture  of  disgust,  as  if  the  word  suggested  house 
maids  and  elderly  females  engaged  in  charity. 
"  I  've  earned  a  little  money,  and  spent  a  good 
deal.  I  've  loafed.  I  've  laughed." 


OFF  WITH  THE  OLD  LOVE     41 

She  nodded  approvingly.  "And  loved?"  she 
said. 

"  No,  not  loved.    I  've  been  mainly  in  Boston." 

"  Ah ;  and  one  does  not  love  in  Boston  ?  " 

"  Not  without  an  income." 

"  And  does  n't  one  love  an  income  —  occasion 
ally?" 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  suppose  I  shall  come  to  that  some 
day ;  but  I  have  n't  yet." 

"  But  you  have  seen  plenty  of  pretty  women  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  've  seen  them  and  painted  them.  None 
prettier  than  the  one  I  see  at  this  moment." 

"  Painted  them  ?  To  be  sure.  And  how  is  paint 
ing  with  you  now  ?  " 

"'Dead,'  Countess,  'forsook,  cast  off.'  I  have 
abandoned  the  brush  altogether,  and  taken  to 
modeling  in  clay." 

"  I  see ;  and  you  have  brought  your  chef  d'oeuvre 
out  here  with  you,  to  excite  our  languid  Koman 
admiration.  He  is  bound  to  be  a  nine  days'  won 
der." 

"  Is  n't  he  ?  Monumentum  exegi  cere  perennius. 
I  have  made  a  monument  more  so  than  brass. 
Excuse  the  pedantry,  Countess;  but  it  was  so 
apt." 

"  Tell  me  about  the  youth.  Why  should  you  be 
a  slave  to  him  ?  Did  you  paint  his  mother  ?  " 

"  Not  his  mother,  his  aunt.  From  all  I  hear,  I 
fancy  his  mother  attended  to  matters  of  that  kind 
herself.  I  should  like  to  see  you  and  his  aunt  to- 


42  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

gether.  I  do  love  contrasts.  I  can  imagine  now 
how  you  would  flatter  and  imitate  her  stiff  Puri 
tanism." 

"  You  think  I  am  an  actor,  then  ?  " 

"  An  adorable  one." 

"  Yet,  for  the  moment,  I  am  always  what  I  seem. 
But  you  have  n't  answered  my  question.  Why  are 
you  a  slave  to  the  youth  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  foolish  question  for  a  clever  woman.  I 
am  poor,  and  the  youth's  father  is  rich.  You  ought 
to  see  his  father.  He  is  a  man.  What  would  you 
make  of  him,  I  wonder.  Yes,  he  is  a  man.  What 
an  eye !  What  a  grasp  of  things  !  And  all  wasted 
on  the  piling  up  of  money." 

"  I  should  like  to  pile  up  money." 

"  No,  you  would  n't.  You  would  like  the  power 
of  it,  and  to  have  it  at  your  beck  and  call,  and  to 
see  people  cringe  and  flatter  you,  and  to  tread  on 
their  necks ;  but  you  would  n't  like  to  spend  day 
and  night  figuring,  and  planning,  and  worrying,  as 
Mr.  Payne  does.  A  man  who  is  really  worthy  to 
enjoy  himself,  too  !  " 

Antonia  was  lying  back  now,  with  her  hands 
clasped  behind  her  head,  watching  the  pleasant 
face  beside  her.  For  it  was  a  pleasant  face  always, 
and  always  on  the  brink  of  merriment.  "  You  ad 
mire  the  father,  but  you  don't  like  the  son  ?"  she 
said  idly. 

"  Oh,  no,  I  don't  like  the  son.  You  remember 
something  of  me,  enough  to  know  I  can  be  happy 


OFF  WITH  THE  OLD  LOVE     43 

almost  anywhere  and  under  any  circumstances.  I 
was  baptized  in  sunshiny  I  think  sometimes,  when 
I  find  other  people  long-faced  and  gloomy,  with 
no  occasion  for  being  so  that  I  can  see.  But  this 
fellow  is  almost  too  much  for  me.  So  lean  as  he 
is,  so  angular,  and  so  worthless,  so  full  of  dark 
corners,  with  little  ugly  spiders  of  spite  and  malice 
constantly  bobbing  out  of  them  —  and  so  vulgar  — 
it  sours  me,  it  does,  really.  All  the  sunshine  is 
getting  soaked  out  of  me,  as  if  I  lived  in  a  damp 
fog." 

She  gazed  off  beyond  him  and  drank  the  mur 
mur  of  his  words.  "  Baptized  in  sunshine,  baptized 
in  sunshine,"  she  kept  repeating  softly  to  herself. 
"  What  was  I  baptized  in,  I  wonder  ?  Some  cold, 
and  strange,  and  subtle  planetary  dew.  Yet  there 
was  a  shred  of  sunlit  mist  about  it  also.  For  I  love 
the  sunlight,  oh,  I  love  it ;  and  the  grave  seems  to 
me  so  harsh  and  horrible." 

Then  she  spoke  to  him  directly,  but  low  and  softly, 
with  that  strange,  siren  whisper,  which  she  so  well 
knew  how  to  use,  or  used  so  well  without  knowing. 

"  Do  you  remember,  Rob,  that  day  —  that  day, 
when  you  told  me  you  loved  me  ?  I  shall  never 
forget  it  —  that  May  day  —  how  soft  it  was  — 
soft  —  soft.  The  old  vetturino  —  how  he  nodded 
on  his  seat,  while  we  drove  and  drove  —  leisurely 
—  why  should  we  have  hastened?  The  sky  was  so 
blue  above  us.  And  the  great,  open  Campagna 
spread  away  about  us,  drenched  in  sunlight.  And 


44  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

the  air  was  full  of  the  breath  of  spring.  Do  you 
remember  ?  " 

She  ceased;  but  her  voice  still  echoed  in  his 
ears,  as  he  leaned  back  and  wondered  whether  such 
things  really  ever  were.  Then  there  was  a  great 
silence  about  them ;  and  they  sat  there  quiet  in 
the  dim  room,  hardly  moving,  or  even  breathing. 

She  spoke  first,  leaning  forward  sharply,  with 
the  grace  banished  from  her  manner  and  a  some 
thing  almost  bitter  in  her  tone :  "  No,  you  don't 
remember.  How  should  you?  When  did  a  man 
ever  remember  ?  What  a  fool  I  am  to  think  you 
should  not  be  as  other  men !  Why  did  you  come 
here?  Why"— 

"  Antonia,"  he  interrupted  gently,  "  it  is  my  turn 
to  ask  whether  you  remember?  Do  you  remem 
ber  the  boy,  the  child,  whom  you  bewitched,  and 
played  with,  and  deserted  —  who  was  so  lament 
ably  innocent  as  to  believe  in  your  innocence,  and 
true  enough  to  believe  in  your  truth  —  who  would 
have  been  ashamed  to  ask  you  to  love  him,  except 
as  his  wife,  and  who  offered  you  his  name  and  his 
honor  —  not  much,  to  be  sure,  but  all  he  had? 
You  soothed  him  and  caressed  him  and  promised. 
Do  you  remember?  —  Yes,  I  remember  that  day 
when  we  drove  together.  I  remember  another  day, 
also,  when,  after  a  brief  two  weeks'  absence,  I  re 
turned  to  Rome  and  found  you  gone  —  and  where 
—  and  with  whom  ?  And  what  have  I  heard  about 
you  since?  There  was  a  dream  shattered  and  an 


OFF  WITH  THE  OLD  LOVE     45 

idol  broken.  People  say  I  forget  easily,  but  I 
remember  that.  Antonia,  do  you?" 

She  heard  him  patiently,  without  a  sound,  with 
out  once  raising  her  eyes  to  look  at  him ;  and  when 
he  had  finished,  she  remained,  for  a  moment,  in 
the  same  position  of  abandoned  hopelessness.  Then, 
pulling  herself  together  defiantly,  she  said :  "  Boys 
and  girls'  folly !  One  cannot  dream  forever  on  no 
thing.  What  I  did  was  best  for  both  of  us.  Any 
way,  it  is  all  gone  now.  What  is  the  use  of  memo 
ries  when  they  sting  you  ?  "  She  made  a  gesture 
as  of  brushing  a  swarm  of  bees  from  about  her 
head.  Then,  after  a  little  pause,  she  added  in  a 
gentler,  softer  tone,  "But,  O  Rob!  O  Bob!  I 
missed  you  so  !  " 

Here,  however,  she  was  forced  to  stop  abruptly ; 
for  the  servant  opened  the  door  for  Mr.  Edgar 
Payne. 


CHAPTEK  V 
THE  WOLF  AND   THE  LAMB 

EDGAR  had  been  meditating  a  visit  to  No.  24  Via 
Ludovisi  ever  since  his  evening  at  Mrs.  Barton's. 
The  Countess  had  pleased  him.  He  had  his  own 
ideas  as  to  women.  They  were  to  have  snap  and 
go  about  them,  and  also  to  be  fascinating,  devilish 
fascinating.  Now  the  Countess  Markovski  was  fas 
cinating,  devilish  fascinating.  He  thought  she  had 
the  snap  and  go.  She  had  certainly  taken  a  fancy 
to  him,  which  might  be  worth  indulging.  Then, 
she  was  a  countess.  Like  all  of  us  true-born  Amer 
icans,  he  did  love  the  sound  of  a  title.  It  tickled 
his  ears,  as  sweets  did  his  palate.  To  be  the  prime 
favorite  of  a  countess  was  well  worth  crossing  a 
street  or  two,  —  if  it  cost  nothing  more. 

After  his  rebuff  from  Gordon,  he  had  tried  to 
make  some  further  inquiries  about  the  lady,  but 
not  very  successfully.  His  own  acquaintances  in 
Rome  were  Americans,  and  not  of  a  class  likely  to 
help  him  much.  He  ventured  to  sound  Dick  Mor 
ris,  when  that  idle  young  gentleman  was  visiting 
Gordon;  but  he  had  been  sharply  snubbed.  He 
generally  was  snubbed  by  Gordon's  friends,  and 
hated  them  accordingly,  and  him  also,  all  the  more. 


THE   WOLF   AND   THE   LAMB  47 

Finally,  after  two  or  three  days  of  reflection,  he 
decided  to  venture  boldly  into  the  siren's  grotto. 
He  thought  he  could  get  out  again  somehow.  In 
deed,  the  memory  of  those  bewitching  eyes  haunted 
him  so  much  that  he  did  not  especially  care  about 
getting  out  again,  if  he  could  only  get  in.  He  was 
somewhat  uncertain  about  the  proper  hour  for  such 
a  visit ;  but  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  seemed  to 
be  fairly  safe.  If  he  did  not  succeed  then,  he 
would  try  again. 

Perhaps  none  of  the  three  was  especially  pleased 
to  see  the  others  at  that  moment.  Gordon's  coun 
tenance  openly  expressed  his  disgust.  Payne  hesi 
tated  somewhat  as  he  approached  the  Countess. 
She,  however,  was,  as  usual,  perfect  mistress  of 
herself  and  the  situation. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Payne,"  she  said,  as  she  held  out  her 
hand  to  him,  "  it  is  so  good  of  you  to  leave  sight 
seeing  for  a  while  and  come  to  me.  Mr.  Gordon 
and  I  have  been  talking  about  you." 

"  I  dare  say.  Trust  Gordon  for  that  —  and  no 
good  of  me  either." 

"  Why  should  you  suppose  we  would  slander 
the  absent?" 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  you.  You  may 
be  different  from  all  the  others.  But  he  could  n't 
say  anything  good  of  me,  if  he  tried." 

"  I  certainly  shan't  try  at  present,"  remarked  the 
tutor.  "  Countess,"  he  went  on,  "  I  don't  believe 
I  am  needed  just  now.  May  I  say  au  revoir  ?  " 


48  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

"Must  you  leave  us?"  she  answered  amiably, 
but  with  what  he  thought  a  rather  strange  coquetry. 
"  Aren't  you  afraid  we  shall  talk  about  you?  " 

"Not  at  all.  One  thing  I  can  say  about  the 
young  man.  He  could  n't  abuse  me  more  behind 
my  back  than  he  does  to  my  face." 

"I  don't  know  that,"  muttered  his  pupil,  as 
Gordon  left  the  room. 

When  they  were  alone,  the  Countess  sat  down 
again  on  the  sofa.  Payne,  who  was  coolness  itself, 
made  a  half -move  toward  sitting  down  beside  her ; 
but  she,  not  discourteously,  but  authoritatively, 
pointed  to  a  chair  a  little  farther  off.  She  did  not 
intend  him  to  forget  his  distance  so  soon.  He  was 
annoyed  at  this  and  spoke  with  sudden  roughness : 
"  See  here,  what  has  that  fellow  been  telling  you 
about  me?" 

"  I  never  betray  my  friends,"  said  Antonia 
quietly. 

"  Is  he  your  friend  ?  " 

"Yes,"  was  the  simple  answer. 

It  appeared  that  jealousy  was  added  to  the  ele 
ments  already  present  in  the  frown  darkening  the 
young  gentleman's  brow.  He  did  not  speak  for  a 
moment.  Neither  did  his  hostess,  as  she  sat,  quiet 
and  cool,  in  the  corner  of  her  sofa,  letting  the  white 
hands  pass  over  each  other  slowly  and  softly.  At 
length  he  said :  "  Confound  that  chap  !  He 's  in 
terfered  with  me  in  everything,  since  the  first  day 
I  set  eyes  on  him.  Why  in  the  world  did  my  father 


THE  WOLF  AND  THE  LAMB     49 

put  him  over  me  ?  I  would  n't  stand  it  an  hour  ; 
only,  you  know,  I've  got  to.  If  you  knew  my 
father  !  I  ain't  afraid  of  much,  but  I  am  afraid  of 
him.  He's  just  like  iron,  my  father  is.  If  I  was 
to  make  a  fuss,  and  punch  Gordon's  head,  and 
start  on  my  own  hook,  the  old  man  might  never 
speak  to  me  again.  It  would  be  just  like  him. 
But  that  Gordon,  he  's  the  most  good-for-nothing 
rascal  you  ever  saw.  Spend  ?  Why,  I  don't  think 
he  knows  a  dime  from  a  dollar.  Never  saved  a  cent 
in  his  life.  Lazy  ?  Why,  an  Irishman  shoveling 
for  the  city  government  at  two  dollars  a  day  is  n't 
so  lazy  as  he  is.  But  everybody  says  he  's  a  gentle 
man  and  they  say  I  'm  not.  Damn  it,  what  is  a 
gentleman?  And  the  women  all  like  him.  Now 
look  at  you  here  —  you  were  as  sweet  as  sirup  to 
me  the  other  night ;  and  now  he  's  come  and  talked 
to  you,  and  you  won't  look  at  me  at  all." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  will.  I  've  been  looking  at  you  all 
the  time."  So  she  had,  with  amusement,  amaze 
ment.  It  was  an  odd  fish  certainly,  an  ugly  one. 
She  had  never  yet  come  across  such  an  one  in  all 
her  wide  experience.  It  would  be  a  real  curiosity 
to  investigate  and  classify  the  creature,  even  if  it 
came  to  nothing.  "  I  will  look  at  you.  And  I  like 
you." 

The  frowning  brow  relaxed  and  the  pale  green 
eyes  were  raised  to  hers.  She  was  looking  at  him 
intently,  frankly,  with  a  hint  of  a  smile,  but  kind 
and  sympathetic. 


50  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

"  Suppose  we  put  Mr.  Gordon  aside,  for  a  little 
while,"  she  began.  "  I  think  we  can  find  something 
pleasanter  to  talk  about." 

"  Sure,"  was  the  grim  assent. 

"  Tell  me  about  yourself." 

"  Tell  me  about  yourself,"  he  answered  promptly. 
"  I  've  been  trying  to  find  out  something  about  you 
for  the  last  three  days." 

The  youth  might  be  a  monster ;  but  he  was  not 
a  fool;  that  was  evident.  Even  she  was  taken 
aback  for  a  second  and  dropped  her  eyes  before 
the  impudence  of  the  pale  green  ones.  "  I  am  glad 
I  interested  you  so  much,"  she  said,  with  simple 
gentleness.  "  But  all  that  will  come  later.  You 
are  a  man,  you  know,  and  should  speak  first." 

"What  shall  I  say?" 

"  Well,  you  were  born  of  poor  but  honest  par 
ents,  I  suppose  ? " 

"  No,  I  was  born  in  Chicago.  There  are  some 
poor  people  in  Chicago,  I  believe ;  but  no  honest 
ones.  I  never  saw  any  anywhere ;  only  those  who 
pretend  to  be  and  those  who  don't.  I  don't  know 
anything  about  my  mother.  My  father  was  awfully 
rich  then.  He's  richer  now.  I  never  heard  him 
say  anything  about  honesty.  Lately  we  Ve  lived 
in  Boston.  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know  why.  I  hate 
Boston." 

"  Did  you  go  to  school  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  went  to  school.  Oh,  you  mean 
boarding  school.  Yes,  I  did.  I  went  for  two  years, 


THE   WOLF   AND   THE   LAMB  51 

just  before  I  came  out  here  —  I  was  twenty-one 
last  June  —  to  a  big  school  in  the  East.  And  a 
mean  place  it  was.  Prayers  morning  and  night  — 
just  think  of  it.  Have  to  go,  you  know.  And  a 
lot  of  Greek  and  Latin  and  stuff  —  what  good  is 
it,  any  way  ?  Never  helped  a  man  to  make  a  dol 
lar.  My  father  wanted  me  to  go  to  college,  but  I 
told  him,  not  much.  What 's  college  good  for  ?  " 

"  Did  n't  you  make  any  friends  at  school  ?  "  It 
may  easily  be  imagined  that  the  Countess  took  not 
the  slightest  interest  in  the  facts  thus  agreeably 
narrated ;  but  every  word  and  every  grimace  was 
throwing  new  light  on  the  curious  character  she 
had  to  study.  She  was  like  the  naturalist,  who 
pokes  his  spider  with  a  pin  and  makes  him  throw 
out  this  leg  and  that  in  huge  uncouthness. 

"  Friends  ?  Now,  really,  sometimes  I  can't  make 
out  whether  you  are  a  tenderfoot  or  not.  What 
has  a  practical  man  got  to  do  with  friends  ? 
Friends  are  people  that  want  something  of  you. 
If  you  're  weak,  you  've  got  to  have  'em ;  because 
you  want  something  of  everybody.  If  you  're 
strong  and  good  for  fighting,  they  're  only  a  bore. 
I  have  n't  got  a  friend  in  the  world,  and  don't 
want  one." 

"  You  don't  wish  to  be  friends  with  me,  then  ?  " 

«  Pshaw !  That 's  different.  You  don't  call  that 
being  friends  ?  " 

The  glance  that  accompanied  this  led  her  to  say 
hastily,  "  But  at  school  ?  " 


52  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

"  Oh,  at  school.  You  would  n't  ask  me  to  be 
friends  with  such  a  crowd  as  that.  They  could  n't 
think  of  anything  but  football.  You  don't  suppose 
I  would  play  football  ?  Why  should  a  fellow  want 
to  go  and  get  his  head  knocked  in  for  nothing  ? 
They  call  me  a  coward.  So  I  am  —  who  is  n't  ? 
I  'm  not  afraid  to  say  so.  I  don't  like  to  be  hurt. 
But  give  me  something  to  be  hurt  for.  I  'd  charge 
an  army  for  the  sake  of  getting  a  gold  mine.  They 
didn't  like  me  at  school.  The  first  year  they 
thought  they  were  sending  me  to  Coventry  and 
all  that.  As  if  I  cared.  I  just  stayed  in  my  room 
and  read  the  stock  quotations  and  the  financial 
articles.  I  tell  you  I  know  something  about  'em, 
too.  I  don't  believe  there  's  a  listed  stock  in  the 
market  to-day  that  I  couldn't  tell  you  the  his 
tory  of ;  and  I  could  tell  you  some  queer  things 
about  some  unlisted  ones.  You  see  my  father's 
right  on  to  all  those  things,  and  he  gives  me  point 
ers.  I  've  kept  tabs  on  the  whole  business.  Oh, 
you  'd  just  enjoy  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  I  'm  sure  I  should."  She  thought  of  men  who 
had  talked  to  her  about  that  sort  of  thing  before, 
men  who  would  have  devoured  this  innocent  lamb 
at  a  meal,  men  who  held  the  exchanges  of  Europe 
in  their  pockets  and  blew  the  fate  of  empires  from 
their  cigars.  She  had  often  thought  she  should  en 
joy  that  sort  of  thing,  when  the  time  should  come 
for  it.  Yes,  this  odd  little  beast  might  be  worth 
listening  to  in  the  end.  So  she  listened. 


THE  WOLF  AND  THE  LAMB     53 

"  The  last  year  I  was  at  school,"  he  went  on, 
"  the  fellers  got  to  thinking  more  of  me.  I  taught 
'em  a  thing  or  two  that  was  more  fun  than  Latin, 
you  see.  I  showed  'em  what  business  meant.  Fi 
nally,  I  ran  a  regular  little  bucket-shop,  and  I  tell 
you  they  went  into  it.  Why,  I  made  nearly  a  hun 
dred  dollars  in  three  weeks.  That  was  fun.  That 
was  worth  going  to  school  for.  But  the  teachers 
got  on  to  it ;  turned  me  out  at  last.  What  did  I 
care  ?  " 

He  was  wound  up  now,  and  could  go  on  forever. 
That  was  evident.  She  leaned  back  in  her  corner, 
and  listened  gravely  to  the  torrent  of  coarse  slang 
and  dull  anecdotes,  all  the  gross  experience  of  a 
crude,  half-baked,  cross-grained  temper,  never  sub 
jected  to  any  education  but  that  of  fortuitous  cir 
cumstance,  not  ill-fitted  to  beat  a  rough  way  for 
itself  to  a  certain  sort  of  success,  but  wholly  inca 
pable  of  charm,  or  grace,  or  attractiveness,  incapable 
even  of  the  appreciation  of  such  things.  Now  and 
then  she  put  in  a  word  of  grave  sympathy.  Not 
very  much  was  needed.  Still,  she  drew  him  on 
more  and  more. 

"  And  what  are  you  doing  over  here  ? "  she 
asked,  when  there  came  a  pause.  "  You  don't  get 
at  much  business  in  Rome." 

"  Well,  no.  You  see,  father  would  have  me 
come.  He  thought  he  ought  to  get  education  into 
me  somehow  —  what  he  calls  education.  He  can't 
do  it,  you  know ;  but  he  said,  if  I  'd  come  over 


54  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

here  for  a  year,  when  I  came  back,  he  'd  give  me 
a  hundred  thousand  dollars  and  a  start,  let  me  into 
one  or  two  big  deals.  That 's  worth  while.  I  know 
he 's  working  up  a  tin-can  trust  that  has  got  money 
in  it,  oh,  money —  You  see,  I'll  be  in  that  for 
the  dollars  every  tune.  Then  there  's  a  girl  over 
here  that  he  wants  me  to  marry." 

"  To  marry  ?  "  There  was  just  a  little  gleam  in 
the  dark  eyes. 

"  Marry 's  the  word.  Name  's  Stanton.  Father 
old  friend  of  his.  She 's  got  money,  lots  of  it. 
And  they  do  say  she's  pretty.  Couldn't  touch 
me,  if  she  was  n't.  I  don't  know  about  marrying, 
yet  awhile.  Want  to  see  all  the  pretty  women 
first." 

"  You  like  pretty  women  ?  "  she  said.  "  Which 
do  you  like  best,  them  or  money  ?  " 

"  Money,  of  course.    But  they  come  next." 

His  brutal  frankness  rather  attracted  her. 
"  What  sort  of  pretty  women  do  you  like  ?  " 

"  Pretty  women  just  like  you,"  he  said.  As  he 
said  it,  he  got  up  determinedly  from  his  chair  and 
came  over  on  to  the  sofa  beside  her.  Then  he  took 
her  hand.  There  was  a  moment's  pause,  just 
enough  for  her  to  feel  the  clammy,  serpent  pressure 
of  his  grasp,  just  enough  for  her  to  give  him  one 
mysterious  glance  —  of  curiosity,  of  interest,  of 
tenderness  ?  That  was  for  him  to  speculate  about 
later.  Then  she  rose,  as  frigid  as  an  Easter  lily, 
or  a  morning  shower-bath.  "  I  have  chatted  with 


THE   WOLF  AND  THE   LAMB  55 

you  too  long.  I  should  have  been  on  the  Pinciaii 
by  this  time.  My  carriage  is  always  ready  at  half- 
past  four." 

He  was  forced  to  rise  also,  and  stood,  awkward 
and  frowning,  beside  her.  "  Here  have  I  been  giv 
ing  myself  away  for  an  hour,  as  if  I  were  being 
interviewed  for  a  morning  daily.  You  promised  to 
tell  me  something  too." 

"  Did  I  ?  That  must  be  for  another  time,  I  am 
afraid.  You  have  been  so  interesting.  By  the  way 
—  can  you  ride  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  so.  My  father  had  a  stock 
farm.  When  I  was  a  kid,  I  was  out  there  half  the 
time.  I  can  ride  anything." 

"  Well,  then,  ride  with  me  some  afternoon  in 
the  Campagna.  I  love  to  get  out  into  pure,  bare 
desolation  away  from  all  this  canned  desolation 
here.  Let  me  see,  to-day  is  Monday.  Come  Fri 
day,  at  one  o'clock.  The  afternoons  are  so  short 
now.  I  will  be  ready  for  you.  Will  you  ?  " 

"  Sure,  I  will."  And  with  this  he  was  obliged 
to  take  a  grumbling  leave,  while  the  lady  went  to 
prepare  for  her  daily  drive. 


CHAPTEK  VI 
THE   CASTING  OF  PEARLS 

FOR  the  next  two  or  three  days  matters  went  on 
much  as  usual.  Gordon  said  nothing  to  Edgar 
about  the  Countess,  further  than  to  inquire  if  he 
had  enjoyed  his  call;  to  which  the  cheerful  re 
sponse  was,  "  Did  you  ?  "  The  tutor  had  the  mat 
ter  somewhat  on  his  mind,  however.  Was  he  respon 
sible  for  the  young  man's  acquaintances  ?  Probably 
he  was.  If  not,  what  was  he  responsible  for  ?  The 
word  had  lately  come  to  be  to  him  the  most  hate 
ful  in  the  language ;  so  that  he  positively  envied 
that  unfortunate  class  of  persons  who  are  usually 
referred  to  as  "not  responsible."  Meantime,  it 
was  quite  clear  that  the  expression  was  applicable 
to  the  case  in  hand,  if  to  anything.  But  then, 
what  was  he  to  do  about  it  ?  To  forbid  Edgar's 
frequenting  the  Countess's  would  be  preposterous, 
and  simply  mean  doubling  the  number  of  his  visits. 
To  hint  gently  that  her  surroundings  were  not  all 
that  could  be  desired  for  a  young  and  innocent 
gentleman  would  be  hardly  more  effective,  even 
with  a  person  to  whom  that  description  applied ; 
and  Payne  was  neither  a  gentleman,  nor  young, 
nor  innocent.  Besides,  in  spite  of  his  present 


THE  CASTING  OF   PEARLS  57 

knowledge  of  the  Countess's  character,  Gordon  still 
felt  the  deepest  tenderness,  not  for  her,  but  for  his 
past  worship  of  her.  To  discuss  her  shadowy  ca 
reer,  to  analyze  her  dubious  peculiarities,  especially 
with  such  a  creature  as  Edgar,  would  be  intoler 
ably  painful. 

After  all,  what  harm  was  likely  to  be  done? 
Edgar  was  intrusted  to  his  care  to  be  shown  the 
world.  Now  the  Countess  was  certainly  the  world, 
the  flesh,  and  the  devil.  "  Not  to  have  seen  her 
would  be  to  have  left  unseen  a  wonderful  piece  of 
work,  which,  not  to  have  been  blessed  withal, 
would  have  much  discredited  your  travel,"  mur 
mured  the  tutor  to  himself.  Odd  company  was, 
of  course,  to  be  met  at  her  house  ;  but  then,  odd 
company  was  to  be  met  at  Mrs.  Barton's ;  in  fact, 
almost  anywhere.  There  was  no  fear  of  Edgar's 
losing  money  at  cards.  In  the  first  place,  it  would 
make  no  great  difference  if  he  did,  as  the  supply 
was  very  abundant.  Then,  he  was  quite  sure  not 
to  play  any  game  which  he  did  not  understand, 
and  was  much  more  likely  to  fleece  than  to  be 
fleeced,  even  by  the  adepts  who  visited  the  Count 
ess  Markovski.  Indeed,  Gordon's  chief  fear  was 
that  he  might  be  detected  in  some  sort  of  cheating, 
which  would  bring  a  scandal  on  everybody ;  but  he 
concluded  that  his  pupil  was  too  knowing  for  that. 
So,  after  giving  the  subject  some  slight  attention, 
he  decided  that  there  was  no  very  great  need  of 
his  doing  anything,  and  nothing  whatever  that  he 


58  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

could  do.  Perhaps  Edgar,  by  the  sacrifice  of  a  little 
of  the  peachy  bloom  of  his  youthful  simplicity, 
might  in  the  end  acquire  a  faint  tinge  of  that 
worldly  polish,  which  was  so  dear  an  object  in  his 
father's  eyes,  and  which  Gordon  had  no  longer 
much  hope  that  he  himself  would  be  able  to  com 
municate. 

Meanwhile,  the  tutor  still  made  heroic  efforts, 
in  every  way  he  could,  to  impart  some  of  the  de 
sired  culture.  He  bullied  or  persuaded  Payne  to 
visit  one  and  another  of  the  sights,  and  tried  to  in 
spire  him  with  some  slight  interest  in  antiquity  or 
art.  The  attempt  was  perfectly  vain.  The  only 
thing  that  aroused  even  a  spark  of  enthusiasm  in 
his  dull  and  sodden  spirit  was  the  charming  depic 
tion  of  tortures  in  Santo  Stefano  Rotundo.  That 
he  inspected  with  persistent  curiosity,  examining 
and  analyzing  every  picture,  till  Gordon's  patience 
and  stomach  almost  gave  way.  But  in  the  Forum, 
the  Palatine,  the  Colosseum,  the  Baths  of  Cara- 
calla,  the  sculpture  and  picture  galleries,  he  found 
nothing  whatever  to  admire,  and  simply  annoyed 
and  disgusted  whoever  accompanied  him  with 
comments,  which  were,  to  be  sure,  occasionally 
acute,  but  were  always  crude,  loud,  boorish,  and 
insolent. 

Yet  he  was  generally  willing  enough  to  go  to 
such  places ;  for  he  had  nothing  else  to  do.  If  he 
had  been  at  a  hotel  full  of  English  and  Americans, 
his  money  would  have  found  him  companions  and 


THE  CASTING  OF  PEARLS  59 

occupations  of  a  certain  sort ;  but  living  in  lodg 
ings,  he  was  left  to  himself  and  the  long-suffering 
Gordon.  The  afternoons  he  spent  in  perusing  the 
papers,  eagerly  searching  for  such  stale  financial 
information  as  they  supplied.  His  father  sent  him 
the  New  York  journals  ;  and  the  reading  of  these, 
and  of  the  telegraphic  items  in  Galignani,  kept 
him  busy  for  several  hours.  He  took  a  certain  in 
terest,  also,  in  European  stock  markets,  followed 
the  fluctuations  in  London,  Paris,  and  Berlin,  and 
had  even  begun  to  do  a  little  business  in  Italian 
securities,  although  the  Roman  Bourse  was  tanta 
lizing,  like  the  view  of  the  Promised  Land  afar 
off,  since  he  could  not  follow  a  word  of  the  trans 
actions.  But  in  the  mornings  he  was  usually  will 
ing  to  go  on  some  expedition,  provided  he  was  not 
too  much  bored  with  explanations,  was  allowed  to 
stare  his  fill  at  the  pretty  girls,  and  above  all,  was 
not  put  to  any  expense.  He  insisted  on  doing  all 
the  sights  on  the  free  days  only ;  and  fretted  over 
unnecessary  fees,  as  if  he  were  losing  a  tooth. 

On  the  Thursday  following  the  visit  at  the 
Countess's,  the  two  young  men  were  strolling 
through  the  Vatican  sculpture  galleries.  In  regard 
to  sculpture  Payne  was  simply  hopeless.  He  did 
occasionally  see  a  picture  which  he  condescended 
to  approve  of,  always  the  worst  which  could  by 
any  possibility  be  found  —  say,  the  waxy  smooth 
ness  of  Sassoferrato,  or  a  limp  virgin  of  Carlo 
Dolce,  or  a  frenzied  atrocity  of  Annibale  Caracci. 


60  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

"  That 's  got  some  Kfe  in  it,"  he  would  say. 
"  That 's  American."  But  sculpture  was  naught 
to  him.  Gordon  had  brought  him  to  the  Vatican, 
therefore,  simply  as  a  matter  of  duty,  and  because 
he  himself  loved  to  ramble  about  through  the  long 
galleries,  catching  a  glimpse  here  and  there  of  an 
old  favorite  and  paying  no  attention  to  the  savage 
tirade  that  went  on  beside  him,  except  now  and 
then  to  exasperate  it  by  a  word  of  appreciation  or 
delight. 

"  The  Laocoon,"  said  he,  as  they  paused  in  front 
of  it.  "  That  ought  to  suit  you." 

"  You  think  you  know  my  bad  taste  pretty  well 
by  this  time.  I  suppose  it  does  n't  suit  you  ?  " 

"  No,  not  that  altogether.  It  does  suit  me  in  a 
way ;  but  you  like  things  that  have  life  in  them, 
you  know." 

Edgar  surveyed  the  statue  critically  for  a  moment. 
"  Bully  for  the  snake,"  he  cried,  and  passed  on. 

The  Apollo  Belvedere  caught  his  eye  with  a  re 
miniscence  of  the  Boston  Music  Hall.  "  Hello ! 
They  've  got  him  out  here,  have  they  ?  Well  now, 
that 's  something  like ;  though  there 's  more  things 
at  home  it  would  pay  them  to  copy  than  statues." 

"  Do  you  really  suppose  this  is  a  copy  of  the 
Apollo  at  home  ?  " 

"  It  don't  make  any  difference  to  you  what  I 
suppose,  does  it  ?  " 

Gordon  stopped  a  moment  before  the  famous 
torso.  "  Edgar,"  he  began,  "  if  you  really  want  to 


THE  CASTING  OF  PEARLS  61 

learn  anything  about  what  Greek  art  is  and  what 
sculpture  is,  just  look  at  this  for  a  while." 

Payne  gazed  at  him  in  unspeakable  disgust. 
"  Gordy,"  he  answered,  "  I  think  sometimes  you 
take  me  for  a  fool ;  but  I  'm  not  enough  of  a  one 
to  think  you  're  enough  of  a  one  to  care  about  a 
thing  like  that.  What  is  it  but  a  piece  of  dirty 
marble,  knocked  and  battered  till  you  can't  tell 
whether  it 's  a  man  or  a  horse-block  ?  I  wish  Mark 
Twain  was  here.  He  'd  make  you  see  what  an  ass 
you  are."  With  this  crushing  reference  to  the  high 
priest  of  Philistine  laughter,  he  walked  on. 

Through  the  vast  length  of  the  Museo  Chiara- 
monti  they  loitered  leisurely,  Gordon  sometimes 
making  an  honest,  futile,  and  ridiculous  effort  to 
interest  his  companion,  whose  attention  was  chiefly 
directed  to  a  group  of  young  English  women  walk 
ing  in  front  of  them.  For  the  most  part,  however, 
the  tutor  abandoned  himself  in  silence  to  the  peculiar 
charm  of  those  white  and  quiet  relics  of  antiquity. 
He  took  his  finger  out  of  the  Baedeker,  and  made 
no  attempt  to  study  dates  or  styles  or  theories; 
his  mind  wandered  in  a  dream  to  all  the  old,  for 
gotten  life  which  these  things  represented;  and 
sometimes,  in  that  shifting  mist  of  fancy,  there 
would  float  out  sharply  the  clear  outline  of  a  white 
arm,  or  a  sloping  shoulder,  or  a  bent  leg  strained 
in  the  swift  ardor  of  pursuit,  or  an  earnest  face 
gazing  out  forever  and  forever  in  immortal  calm. 
At  length  he  found  himself,  almost  without 


62  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

knowing  how,  standing  before  the  Doryphorus  in 
the  Braccio  Nuovo.  For  some  time  he  paused  there, 
in  dreamy  contemplation  of  the  exquisite  pose  and 
poise,  which  Polycletus,  or  some  one  else,  has  left 
for  the  eternal  adoration  of  mankind.  "  What  a 
people  they  were,"  he  thought,  "  who  dreamed  the 
short  life-dream  under  those  blue  skies  of  Attica ! 
How  wise  they  were  in  accepting  what  they  found 
and  looking  no  further.  They  bothered  themselves 
with  no  troublesome  questions  about  death  and  the 
hereafter.  They  saw  beauty  in  the  world,  beauty, 
which  the  moderns  have  clean  forgotten." 

Meantime,  Edgar  was  watching  his  English 
girls  and  another  party  who  looked  more  New 
Yorkish.  "  I  say,  Gordy,"  he  cried,  harshly  inter 
rupting  his  companion's  reverie,  "  Does  n't  that 
girl  look  like  the  photograph  —  what 's  her  name 
—  Stanton,  you  know  ?  " 

Gordon  gave  a  sharp  glance.  "  Hardly,"  he  an 
swered.  "  Miss  Stanton  is,  at  any  rate,  a  lady,  and 
that  young  person  —  well,  her  father  must  have 
struck  oil,  I  should  think.  By  the  way,  Edgar, 
that  reminds  me.  I  had  a  letter  from  Mr.  Stanton 
this  morning." 

"  Did  ?   Well,  what  does  the  old  boy  say  ?  " 
"  They  are  coming  to  Kome  to-morrow.    Hotel 
Bristol." 

"  Let  them  come  when  they  like  —  and  go." 
"  I  suppose  you  intend  to  be  civil  to  them,  as 
your  father  wishes  it." 


THE   CASTING  OF  PEARLS  63 

"  Oh,  civil,  yes.  Why  not  ?  I  '11  go  round  there 
some  day —  when  I  get  ready." 

"  The  very  least  we  can  do  is  to  go  to-morrow 
afternoon  and  leave  our  cards.  I  dare  say  they 
won't  see  us." 

"  You  can  go  and  leave  my  pasteboard,  if  you 
like.  That 's  what  you  're  for." 

"  A  sort  of  valet  de  place,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  I  should  get  a  great  deal  more  out  of  any  kind 
of  a  valet ;  but  call  it  that,  if  you  like." 

"  Seriously,  Edgar,  you  don't  mean  to  tell  me 
you  won't  go  round  there  with  me  to-morrow  after 
noon  ?  " 

"  Seriously,  I  do  mean  to  tell  you  just  that. 
Can't  you  understand  English  ?  I  have  another 
engagement  to-morrow  afternoon." 

"  None  more  important  than  this,  I  should 
judge." 

"  I'll  do  the  judging  for  myself." 

"  Would  you  mind  telling  me  what  this  prior 
engagement  is  ?  " 

"  It 's  none  of  your  business ;  but,  as  it  may 
annoy  you  a  little,  I  will.  I  am  going  to  ride  in 
the  Campagna  with  the  Countess  Markovski." 

"  With  the  Countess  Markovski  —  ride  —  on 
horseback,  I  suppose,  in  the  Campagna  ? "  said 
Gordon  gravely. 

"  Just  so.  Don't  like  it,  hey  ?  Kind  of  cuts  you 
out  a  bit,  don't  it,  old  boy?  Want  all  the  coun 
tesses  and  all  the  women  yourself  ?  Can't  have  'em, 


64  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

you  see.  I  have  n't  got  your  figure ;  but  I  have 
my  way  with  'em  all  the  same." 

Gordon  didn't  speak  for  a  moment.  He  was 
very  thoughtful,  as  they  walked  slowly  along  the 
chill  and  empty  gallery.  "You  understand,  of 
course,  your  father's  wishes  in  regard  to  Mr.  Stan- 
ton  ?  "  he  asked,  at  length. 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  Mr.  Stanton. 
Of  course,  I  know  father  wants  me  to  marry  the 
girl." 

"Well?" 

"  Well  —  I  shall  do  as  I  like  about  it." 

"  As  she  likes  —  perhaps  ?  " 

"As  she  likes?  Why,  you  don't  think  she'd 
Tefuse  me,  do  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  her  yet." 

"  Nor  I.  I  don't  need  to.  I  'm  not  banking  on 
my  personal  charms,  of  course.  I  know  what  you 
think  of  them.  But  where  's  the  girl  that  would 
refuse  the  son  of  fifty  millions  ?  Did  you  ever  see 
her?" 

"  Perhaps  not." 

"  I  guess,  perhaps  not.  But  the  thing  is,  do  I 
want  to  marry  her  ?  Of  course,  she 's  got  the 
rocks ;  not  like  me,  but  well  enough  for  a  begin 
ning.  Then  they  do  say  she 's  pretty.  Only  I  'm 
afraid  she  is  n't  my  style.  That 's  what  I  've  got 
to  find  out.  Anyway,  I  'm  not  going  to  make  her 
think  I  'm  too  anxious,  you  know.  Not  much." 

They  walked  on  again  in  silence.    Gordon  most 


THE  CASTING  OF  PEARLS  65 

devoutly  hoped  the  young  lady  would  prove  to  be 
of  the  required  style ;  but  that  seemed  altogether 
too  good  to  be  true.  If  not,  what  ? 

As  they  were  passing  out  of  the  Chiaramonti, 
they  met  Morris,  who  stopped  and  seemed  disposed 
to  chat  a  little. 

"  I  '11  have  to  get  you  to  excuse  me,"  said  Payne. 
"  I  want  to  see  a  man  on  the  way  home.  No,  you 
need  n't  come  along,  Gordy.  I  've  had  about  enough 
of  you  for  one  day." 

"  Great  Scott !  How  do  you  stand  that  chap  ?  " 
asked  Morris,  when  Edgar  was  out  of  hearing. 

"  I  wonder  at  it  sometimes  myself." 

"  I  should  have  murdered  him  long  ago  — 
thrashed  him  within  an  inch  of  his  life,  at  any 
rate.  I  never  imagined  such  an  oaf.  But  you  're 
too  amiable  to  live." 

"Thanks.  The  truth  is,  I  feel  that  if  I  took 
him  right  I  might  make  something  of  him.  I  keep 
trying." 

"  You  do,  that 's  a  fact.  If  you  took  him  by  the 
scruff  of  his  neck  and  dropped  him  into  the  Tiber, 
you  might  make  fish-bait  of  him,  —  if  they  would 
bite  it.  What  do  you  expect  to  make  of  him  ?  " 

"  I  give  it  up.  To-morrow  his  intended  is  com 
ing.  I  shall  turn  him  over  to  her." 

"  Whew !  "  whistled  Morris.  "  Oh,  won't  that 
be  fun.  May  I  be  there  to  see !  Will  he  go,  like  a 
lamb  to  the  slaughter?" 

"  Well,  not  to-morrow.    You  see,  he  has  pro- 


66  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

mised  to  ride  with  the  Countess  to-morrow  in  the 
Campagna." 

"  To  ride  with  the  Countess  Markovski  ?  "  Then 
Morris  took  his  friend  by  the  arm,  leaned  over 
close  to  his  ear,  and  whispered,  with  awful  solem 
nity,  "  What  if  he  should  marry  the  Countess 
Markovski  ?  " 

Gordon  positively  staggered  back  and  gazed  at 
Morris  with  an  expression  of  horror.  u  Marry  the  " 
—  he  gasped.  "  Marry  "  — 

"  That 's  what  I  said.  Oh,  what  a  perfect  picnic. 
It 's  worth  coming  to  Rome  for." 

"  Heavens  and  earth !  "  ejaculated  the  tutor. 


CHAPTER  VII 
ON  THE  PINCIAN 

IT  was  not  Gordon's  habit  to  lie  awake  nights,  nor 
did  he  actually  lose  any  sleep  over  the  unfortunate 
suggestion  which  Morris  had  made  to  him.  Never 
theless,  his  soul  was  a  good  deal  disquieted,  and  he 
devoted  such  minutes  as  were  casually  snatched 
from  slumber  to  reflection  on  the  possibilities  and 
desirabilities  of  the  future. 

When  morning  came,  he  left  Edgar  to  mumble 
over  the  newspapers,  and  started  out  by  himself  to 
enjoy  a  cigar  in  leisurely  contemplation.  He  wan 
dered  through  the  dull,  tame  streets  of  the  modern 
portion  of  the  city  toward  the  Piazza  di  Spagna, 
finding  it  easier  to  smoke  and  observe  than  to  do 
any  systematic  thinking.  What  an  awful  bore  the 
whole  situation  was.  He  certainly  wished  to  do 
the  very  best  he  could  for  his  pupil,  from  a  gen 
eral  sense  of  duty,  and  still  more,  from  a  very 
lively  recollection  of  all  the  kindness  he  had  re 
ceived  at  the  hands  of  Mr.  Payne  senior.  With 
out  making  any  elaborate  plans,  he  had  imagined, 
when  he  left  home,  that  his  course  would  be  sim 
ple  and  easy.  Edgar  was  green,  to  be  sure,  but 
he  was  young ;  and  as  practically  all  that  was  ex- 


68  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

pected  was  that  he  should  learn  to  enjoy  life  like 
a  gentleman,  there  did  not  seem  to  be  anything 
very  difficult  in  the  matter.  Gordon  himself  had 
never  required  teaching  for  such  an  object.  Ac 
cordingly,  he  had  tried  from  the  very  beginning 
to  preach  by  example,  now  and  then  offering  a  bit 
of  good-natured  advice  or  a  pleasant  suggestion, 
not  in  the  least  dictatorially,  but  as  one  companion 
will  always  do  to  another.  He  had  failed  at  the 
outset,  and  soon  came  to  see  that  he  was  failing. 
Gentlemanliness,  as  he  understood  it,  was  neither 
practiced  nor  appreciated  by  Edgar  Payne;  and 
the  latter's  idea  of  amusing  himself  seemed  to  fall 
off  further  and  further  from  any  gentlemanly 
standard.  It  goes  without  saying  that  Gordon 
meant  by  amusement,  not  only,  nor  in  any  way 
chiefly,  the  more  trivial  gayeties  of  life,  but  those 
higher  and  subtler  spiritual  pleasures  of  art  and 
thought  and  refined  social  intercourse,  which  many 
people  stiffen  into  rather  laborious  duties,  but 
which  he  had  the  natural  grace  to  enjoy  instinc 
tively,  and  therefore  beyond  anything  else.  It 
would,  perhaps,  have  been  too  much  to  expect  that 
Edgar  should  show  any  taste  for  this  sort  of  thing ; 
although  Gordon  had  honestly  and  earnestly  done 
his  best  to  help  him.  But  even  in  eating  and 
drinking  and  all  forms  of  youthful  frolic  there  was 
a  hopeless  boorishness,  a  coarseness,  a  crude  sel 
fishness  about  the  boy,  which  discouraged  and  dis 
gusted  his  tutor  almost  beyond  endurance.  Yet, 


ON   THE   PINCIAN  69 

in  spite  of  a  gradually  increasing  estrangement, 
leading  frequently  to  open  insolence  on  Edgar's 
part,  Gordon  had  persisted  in  trying  to  exercise 
a  sort  of  restraining  and  civilizing  influence,  had 
hoped  that  they  might  get  through  their  various 
experiences  without  any  serious  break,  and  that, 
after  their  return  home,  some  little  good  might 
prove  to  have  been  accomplished,  even  if  far  less 
than  Mr.  Payne  had  desired.  But  now  ? 

Turning  all  this  over  in  his  mind,  he  had  wan 
dered  past  the  Trinita  de'  Monti,  and  so,  slowly, 
on  into  the  Pincian  Gardens.  The  morning  was 
somewhat  dull  and  misty ;  but  now  and  then  the 
sun  broke  through,  flooding  the  roofs  below  him 
with  a  watery  light.  He  leaned  against  the  south 
ern  parapet  of  the  promenade,  and  continued  to 
ruminate. 

If  Edgar  should  take  it  into  his  head  to  marry 
the  Countess,  or  rather,  if  the  Countess  should 
take  it  into  her  head  to  marry  Edgar,  what  could 
he  do  ?  Nothing,  probably.  He  had  already  con 
sidered  the  possibility  of  warning  Edgar ;  but  what 
would  that  amount  to?  He  was  well  aware  that 
Edgar  had  not  the  slightest  confidence  in  any  one's 
veracity.  The  minute  he  suspected  a  design  to  in 
fluence  or  control  him,  he  would  be  roused  to  op 
position,  and  it  was  extremely  likely  that  a  result 
exactly  contrary  to  the  desirable  one  would  be 
brought  about. 

Then  what  would  be  the  character  of  any  warn- 


70  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

ing  that  was  to  be  given?  Should  Gordon  con 
fine  himself  to  repeating  the  general  stories  of  the 
lady's  past,  as  if  they  had  come  to  him  in  the  form 
of  mere  vulgar  rumor,  suggesting  doubts  about 
the  existence  of  the  late  Count  Markovski,  narrat 
ing  the  unfortunate  experiences  of  Brown,  Jones, 
and  Robinson  ?  It  might  be  done,  but  it  would  be 
lamentably  vague,  and  probably  quite  ineffective. 
Must  he,  after  all,  admit  that  he  himself  had 
known  Antonia,  had  loved  her,  had  been  fooled  by 
her?  Must  he  bring  his  own  intimate  testimony 
to  her  witchery,  her  treachery,  her  heartlessness, 
to  confirm  the  darker  and  more  damning  evidence 
of  others  ?  No,  the  idea  was  too  disgusting.  He 
would  keep  himself,  his  own  feelings  and  suffer 
ings  out  of  the  fight,  at  any  rate,  for  the  present. 
As  the  word  fight  occurred  to  him,  he  smiled 
at  the  thought  of  trying  to  do  battle  with  the 
Countess  Markovski ;  and  it  was  clear  to  him,  be 
forehand,  where  the  victory  would  fall,  if  she  should 
really  wish  to  enter  the  lists. 

Still,  need  he  do  anything  just  at  present? 
There  was  Miss  Stanton  coming.  She  might  possi 
bly  affect  the  result  in  some  way.  It  was,  indeed, 
too  much  to  hope  that  she  would  take  to  Edgar,  or 
Edgar  to  her.  Yet  who  could  tell  ?  She  was  rich, 
and  to  Edgar  that  meant  so  much.  Even  if  Miss 
Stanton  were  indifferent  to  him,  any  interest  that 
he  might  take  in  her  would  be  the  surest  safeguard 
against  the  dark  lady  who  was  enchanting  him  at 


ON   THE   PINCIAN  71 

present.  Yes,  the  proper  thing  was  to  wait,  espe 
cially  since,  if  the  situation  was  getting  too  complex 
it  was  always  possible  to  cable  and  summon  Mr. 
Payne  to  the  rescue. 

With  this  conclusion,  the  tutor  dismissed  the  mat 
ter  from  his  mind,  and,  leaning  over  the  parapet, 
gazed  idly  at  the  well-known  scene  before  him. 
The  weather  was  brightening  more  and  more,  and 
gleams  of  sunshine  were  falling  constantly  on  one 
point  or  another  of  the  landscape.  Now  they  lay 
flat  on  the  low  dark  cover  of  the  Pantheon.  Now 
they  brought  out  sharply  the  yellow  towers  of  the 
Capitol.  Now  they  bathed,  in  full  splendor,  the 
immense,  all-absorbing  dome  of  St.  Peter's  and  the 
heavy  masses  of  the  Vatican  beside  it,  then  swept 
beyond  these  to  the  long  ridge  which  terminates  in 
San  Pietro  in  Montorio,  and  finally  rushed  away, 
over  hill  and  valley  and  river  and  plain,  to  the 
dark  rolling  slopes  of  the  Alban  Mountains.  All 
the  while,  Gordon  saw  and  heard  below  him  the 
tumultuous  life  of  the  city,  pouring  out  from  the 
Corso  into  the  vast  Piazza  del  Popolo,  and  from 
there  surging  back  again  into  the  narrow  and 
crowded  streets. 

The  sight  was  an  old,  old  one  to  Gordon,  as 
to  so  many  others ;  yet  old  as  it  was,  the  gran 
deur  and  impressiveness  of  it  touched  and  stirred 
his  soul,  as  it  had  done  when  he  first  beheld 
it,  nay,  far  more  than  when  he  first  beheld  it;  for 
Rome  has,  more  than  any  other  city,  the  power 


72  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

of  growing  and  growing  in  its  hold  on  one.  At 
first  sight,  especially  since  the  building  of  the  ugly 
modern  portions,  it  appears  tame,  ordinary,  and 
commonplace.  It  has  not  the  seductive  luxury  of 
Naples,  nor  the  noble  majesty  of  Genoa,  nor  the 
romantic  poetry  of  Venice,  nor  the  perfect  grace 
of  Florence.  Beginning  with  a  general  view  of  it, 
you  are  disappointed.  Then  the  charm  grows.  By 
degrees  the  vast  stream  of  historical  association 
penetrates  your  life,  making  you  one  with  it ;  and 
the  ancient  city  twines  itself  about  your  heart 
strings,  drawing  you  back  again,  even  when  you 
are  thousands  of  miles  away. 

Roma!  Roma!  Roma!  There  is  a  slow  and 
thunderous  resonance  about  the  very  name,  which 
sounds  like  huge  tides  of  memory,  echoing  forever 
through  the  dim  foundations  of  the  world.  Roma ! 
Roma !  Roma !  It  may  be  an  idle  fancy ;  but  is 
there  not  something  characteristic  in  the  names 
of  many  of  the  great  capitals?  Listen  to  New 
York  (N'Yark),  with  its  hint  of  smart,  jaunty, 
shoddy,  new-made  riches.  Then  there  is  London  — 
good,  solid,  beefy,  full  of  square  British  manliness 
and  prejudice.  And  Paris,  swift,  keen,  and  witty. 
And  Madrid,  grave  and  haughty.  And  Wien, 
light  and  flute-like,  piping  and  gossiping  over  the 
Praten.  But  Roma  —  how  solemn  it  is,  and  deep- 
toned,  and  melancholy,  heavy-fraught  with  the 
majesty  of  ages ! 

Roma !  Roma !  Roma  !    How  it  throbs  with  the 


ON   THE   PINCIAN  73 

triumphant  outcry  of  the  legions  and  the  groans  of 
the  martyrs  and  the  swell  of  Christian  organs  and 
the  boom  of  cannon  upon  cannon  !  Roma !  Roma ! 
Roma !  There  is  no  word  more  grand  and  lofty  in 
all  the  varied  language  of  the  world. 

After  something  this  fashion  dreamed  Gordon, 
gazing  over  the  parapet  of  the  Pincian,  and  con 
tent,  as  he  always  was,  to  let  anything  external 
distract  his  mind  from  tedious  thoughts  within. 
He  was  left  to  his  musings  with  little  interruption  ; 
since,  at  that  hour  in  the  morning,  the  Pincian  is 
as  remarkable  for  solitude  as  it  is  in  the  afternoon 
for  crowds  and  gayety.  But,  at  length,  looking  at 
the  winding  path  that  leads  up  from  the  Piazza  del 
Popolo,  he  saw  approaching  a  group  of  persons, 
which  attracted  his  attention  very  decidedly.  It 
consisted  of  a  gentleman  and  lady,  and  a  girl  of 
perhaps  twenty  or  so.  A  brief  glance  sufficed  to 
make  Gordon  almost  certain  that  the  young  lady 
was  Miss  Priscilla  Stanton ;  and  it  was  therefore 
highly  probable  that  the  elders  of  the  party  were 
Miss  Priscilla  Stan  ton's  papa  and  mamma. 

The  slow  process  of  the  ascent  gave  Gordon  time 
to  examine  the  newcomers  at  his  leisure.  Mr. 
Stanton  was  a  stout  man  of  middle  height,  perhaps 
fifty-five  years  of  age,  with  a  full,  dark  mustache 
inclining  to  gray.  The  increasing  amplitude  of  his 
waist  made  his  movements  and  his  whole  appear 
ance  something  heavy  and  sluggish  ;  but  his  expres 
sion,  so  far  as  Gordon  could  judge  at  that  distance, 


74  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

was  alert  and  intelligent,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
open  and  kindly.  Mrs.  Stanton  was  of  much  the 
same  build  and  figure  as  her  husband,  though  of  a 
very  light  and  fair  complexion ;  and  Gordon  gath 
ered  from  her  looks  that  she  had  a  good  share  of 
that  salt  of  jollity  which  alone  can  save  stout  old 
ladies  from  being  bores. 

But  Priscilla  naturally  attracted  most  of  our 
tutor's  attention.  She  was  a  beauty.  It  grieves  me 
to  say  so ;  because  beautiful  heroines  are  getting 
terribly  commonplace,  and  we  ought  to  depict  them 
as  small,  dark,  and  insignificant,  but  full  of  soul 
and  higher  education.  But  Priscilla  was  beautiful. 
Nothing  of  the  classical,  heroic,  swanlike  style,  to 
be  sure,  no  heroine  of  high  tragedy :  it  was  very 
clear  that,  when  she  was  forty,  she  would  be  stout 
and  a  trifle  waddly,  like  her  mother.  But,  mean 
time,  she  was  round  and  soft  and  graceful  and  deli 
cate  and  infinitely  merry  in  a  quiet  way.  Passive 
merriment  was  written  all  over  her.  The  grace  she 
had  came  from  perfect  ease.  All  her  movements 
seemed  to  be  simple  and  spontaneous.  There  was 
no  haste  about  her,  no  waste ;  yet  the  quiet  was 
absolutely  natural,  no  hint  of  consciousness  in  it. 
Then,  in  spite  of  the  ease  and  softness,  there  was 
no  appearance  of  weakness.  The  step  and  carriage 
were  firm  and  erect,  with  the  suggestion  of  plenty 
of  force,  whenever  it  might  be  needed.  As  for  her 
countenance,  the  nose  and  chin  were  a  little  short, 
the  forehead  a  little  low  perhaps ;  but  the  face  was 


ON  THE   PINCIAN  75 

very  merry,  like  the  rest  of  her,  and  the  deep  blue 
eyes  looked  always  ready  to  fill  with  laughter  and 
pass  it  quickly  to  the  two  deep  dimples  in  the 
cheeks.  She  wore  a  trim  blue  gown,  simple,  with 
shortish  skirt,  a  blue  hat  with  a  white  wing  at  the 
side,  and  a  black  boa,  which  set  off  delightfully 
the  wavy  richness  of  her  blond  hair.  As  Gordon 
surveyed  her,  he  thought  he  had  seen  nothing  more 
charming  for  a  long,  long  time. 

They  soon  passed  out  of  his  sight,  following  the 
long  angle  of  the  driveway  which  leads  to  the  top 
of  the  hill ;  but  he  continued  in  the  same  position, 
waiting  till  they  should  approach  him  from  behind. 
Then,  when  he  heard  the  voices  quite  near  by,  he 
turned,  walked  up  to  them,  and  raising  his  hat, 
said,  with  quiet  courtesy :  "  Have  I  the  pleasure 
of  addressing  Mr.  Stanton  ?  " 

The  three  paused  a  moment,  Mrs.  Stanton  and 
Priscilla  looking  at  papa,  and  papa  a  little  puz 
zled.  Then  a  pleasant  light  came  into  his  brown 
eyes,  which  were  very  handsome,  soft  brown  eyes 
still.  "  Ah,"  he  said,  "  I  think  this  must  be  the 
son  of  my  old  friend  Payne." 

Gordon  was  not  a  conceited  fellow,  but  the  ex 
pression  of  evidently  agreeable  surprise  which  com 
municated  itself  from  Mr.  Stanton's  face  to  that  of 
his  wife,  and  still  more  charmingly  to  his  daugh 
ter's,  was  a  little  flattering.  It  was  somewhat  dis 
turbing  also,  however ;  and  the  tutor  answered,  as 
hastily  as  possible,  "  No,  I  cannot  claim  that  honor, 


76  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

though  I  should  be  proud  of  it.  I  am  only  Edgar's 
tutor.  My  name  is  Gordon." 

Mrs.  Stanton's  smile  chilled  ten  degrees  from 
the  enthusiastic  to  the  civil ;  but  Gordon  could  not 
perceive  an  equal  refrigeration  in  Priscilla's.  As 
for  Mr.  Stanton,  he  looked  a  little  vague  for  a  sec 
ond,  and  then  spoke  kindly :  "  Yes,  yes.  It  is  you 
with  whom  I  have  corresponded.  Mr.  Payne  has 
spoken  of  you,  Mr.  Gordon,  in  a  very  compliment 
ary  fashion.  Indeed,  he  must  think  highly  of  you 
to  have  intrusted  you  with  his  only  son.  Let  me 
have  the  pleasure  of  presenting  you  to  my  wife 
and  daughter." 

The  usual  courtesies  followed.  "We  only  ar 
rived  last  evening,  Mr.  Gordon,"  said  Mrs.  Stan- 
ton.  "  We  are  at  the  Hotel  Bristol,  where  I  hope 
you  will  find  us  often.  They  told  us  there  that  the 
Pincian  was  a  good  place  to  see  the  city  from,  and, 
as  it  was  so  near,  we  thought  we  would  stroll  up 
here  for  an  hour.  We  were  too  tired  to  start  on 
any  long  excursion." 

"  Yes,"  chimed  in  Priscilla,  "  tired  to  death. 
And  now  Mr.  Gordon  has  turned  up  so  conven 
iently,  to  tell  us  all  about  it.  Let  us  sit  down  on 
this  seat  here  and  be  told  the  whole  story." 

"  Yet  you  were  the  girl  who  would  n't  have  a 
guide  and  wanted  to  find  out  everything  your 
self,"  replied  her  mother,  laughing  —  and  sitting 
down. 

"  A  guide  !  mamma  dear !     A  guide  !  " 


ON   THE   PINCIAN  77 

"  But  first,"  asked  Mr.  Stanton,  "  how  did  you 
recognize  us  so  quickly  ?  " 

Gordon  sat  down  where  Priscilla  made  room 
for  him,  between  herself  and  her  father.  "  I  got 
your  letter  yesterday,"  he  answered,  "  so  that  I 
knew  when  to  look  for  you.  Then  Mr.  Payne  had 
described  you  to  me  frequently.  Besides,  I  have 
had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Miss  Stanton's  photo 
graph." 

There  was  a  second's  pause,  which  Gordon  felt 
to  be  a  little  awkward.  Had  this  choice  young 
lamb  been  warned  of  the  prospective  slaughter  ? 
And  what  did  she  think  of  it  ?  But  almost  imme 
diately  Mr.  Stanton  spoke  again  :  "  Tell  me  some 
thing  about  Edgar.  You  may  know  that  his  father 
was  the  nearest  friend  I  ever  had ;  but  I  have 
never  seen  the  son,  except  once  or  twice,  when  he 
was  a  small  boy.  As  long  as  they  were  in  Chicago, 
he  lived  mainly  out  on  his  father's  farm  in  the 
country.  When  he  was  fifteen  years  old  Mr. 
Payne  moved  East.  I  consider  the  father  a  very 
remarkable  man." 

"  He  is  a  remarkable  man,"  Gordon  answered, 
only  too  glad  to  expatiate  on  that  topic.  "  The 
most  remarkable  man  I  ever  met.  I  cannot  say 
how  good  he  has  been  to  me." 

"  And  Edgar  ?   He  resembles  his  father  ?  " 

"  In  some  respects  he  does.  Edgar  is  still  young, 
you  know." 

"  Not  so  very.    Nearly  twenty-two,  I  think.   You 


78  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

mean  lie  seems  young?  "  added  Mr.  Stan  ton  curi 
ously. 

"  Well,  yes,  in  some  ways ;  in  others  he  is  re 
markably  mature.  The  truth  is,  he  has  seen  very 
little  of  the  world.  His  surroundings  have  been 
peculiar,  in  some  respects  unfortunately  so.  His 
father  is  wholly  absorbed  in  business,  and  Edgar  has 
been  left  very  much  to  himself.  Mr.  Payne  hoped 
that  coming  abroad  and  meeting  many  people  of 
all  sorts  would  —  perhaps  add  a  little  polish  "  — 

"  And  has  it  done  so  ?  You  have  been  abroad 
now  for  some  months,  I  believe." 

"Since  June — yes."  Gordon  was  just  about 
driven  to  the  wall.  "  Mr.  Stanton,"  he  said,  "  I 
want  you  to  see  Edgar  yourself  and  form  your 
own  opinion  of  him.  I  am  responsible  for  him 
now,  you  know ;  and  perhaps  that  makes  me  more 
alive  to  some  of  his  weak  points  than  a  stranger 
would  be.  I  hope  you  will  see  a  great  deal  of  him 
this  winter.  I  am  sure  your  influence  and  Mrs. 
Stanton's  will  help  him  immensely,  far  more  than 
being  so  much  alone  with  me." 

There  was  another  silence.  Gordon  felt  it  to 
be  a  disagreeable  quarter  of  an  hour.  It  was  evi 
dent  that  Mr.  Stanton  was  very  much  interested 
in  Edgar  and  might  be  as  inclined  as  his  friend 
to  bring  about  a  match  between  the  two  children. 
Yet  the  tutor  could  not  think  of  one  single  thing- 
he  could  honestly  say  in  his  pupil's  favor.  Was 
it  not  better  to  keep  still  than  to  puff  with  false 


ON  THE   PINCIAN  79 

praises,  which  would  only  make  the  reality  more  dis 
appointing  and  make  him  seem  like  a  fool  himself? 

Fortunately  Mrs.  Stanton  came  to  his  assistance. 
"  I  think  Mr.  Gordon  is  right,"  she  said  amiably. 
"  We  shall  get  at  Edgar  much  better  if  we  take 
him  at  first  hand,  without  any  explanations." 

"  Perhaps  that  is  so,"  Mr.  Stanton  agreed,  with 
a  little  hesitation.  "  Just  tell  me  one  thing.  He 
is  not  dissipated,  not  inclined  to  be  wild  in  any 
way  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Gordon  eagerly ;  "  he  certainly 
is  not.  I  never  knew  a  fellow  more  completely 
master  of  himself  in  everything." 

The  tone  of  this  drew  out  a  quick,  keen  glance 
from  the  older  gentleman.  But  Priscilla,  who  had 
taken  no  part  and  apparently  no  interest  in  the 
talk  hitherto,  broke  in  at  this  point.  "  Come,"  she 
said,  "  I  am  dying  to  get  some  information.  Now, 
Mr.  Gordon,  tell  me  the  name  and  history  of  every 
thing  I  see." 

"  Certainly,"  was  the  delighted  reply.  "  But  you 
have  n't  been  in  Rome  before,  then  ?  " 

"  Never.  That  is,  I  have  n't.  Papa  was  here  for 
a  week  fifteen  years  ago ;  but  as  he  went  every 
where  else  on  the  same  trip,  and  all  in  three 
months,  his  reminiscences  are  not  very  reliable. 
We  have  been  abroad  since  a  year  ago  last  June  ; 
but  we  have  been  in  the  north  of  Europe  all  the 
time  until  now  ;  so  Italy  is  new  to  me  and  I  want 
to  see  everything." 


80  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

"  But  are  n't  you  tired  to  death  of  seeing  every 
thing,  long  before  this  ?  Most  people  are." 

"  I  should  say  so,"  murmured  Mr.  Stanton ; 
but  Priscilla  answered,  "  No,  no.  I  am  quite  inde 
fatigable.  I  have  learned  to  take  it  easily.  I  see 
just  what  I  want  to  see,  only  a  little  at  a  time. 
But  it  does  trouble  my  conscience  to  bore  poor 
papa  so.  He  likes  Wall  Street  much  better  than 
the  Grand  Canal.  And  he  never  can  see  the  differ 
ence  between  Turner  and  Tintoretto.  And  he  will 
not  bow  down,  even  before  two  stars  in  Baedeker. 
But  come,  Mr.  Gordon,  I  know  you  are  a  perfect 
cicerone.  Please  explain  this  panorama,  and  don't 
omit  the  double  stars." 

Gordon  was  more  than  content  to  undertake  the 
task.  He  thought  there  was  nothing  more  de 
lightful  than  to  study  a  beautiful  prospect  with  a 
beautiful  girl.  Besides,  anything  was  better  than 
further  discussion  of  Edgar.  So  he  abandoned 
himself  to  more  or  less  lucid  explanation,  while 
Mr.  Stanton  enjoyed  a  cigar,  Mrs.  Stanton  made 
an  occasional  comment,  and  Priscilla,  all  sympa 
thetic  attention,  looked,  and  learned,  and  inwardly 
digested. 

"  You  must  have  made  a  very  careful  study  of 
Rome,"  she  said  at  length. 

"  No,  I  never  made  a  careful  study  of  anything ; 
but  I  lived  here  for  two  winters  and  mostly  with 
people  who  did  make  a  careful  study.  So  I  picked 
up  a  few  points." 


ON   THE   PINCIAN  81 

In  a  little  while  they  had  exhausted  the  prospect 
from  the  seat  where  they  were.  So  Gordon  sug 
gested  that  they  should  make  the  tour  of  the  Gar 
dens.  At  first,  they  walked  four  abreast ;  but,  as 
they  turned  into  the  narrower  alleys,  Gordon  and 
Priscilla  naturally  led  the  way,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stan- 
ton  following,  though  closely  enough  to  take  part 
in  the  talk  and  explanations. 

For  nearly  an  hour  they  wandered  back  and 
forth,  chatting  of  Rome,  and,  apropos  of  Rome,  of 
everything  else,  as  it  is  so  easy  to  do.  When  they 
walked  slowly  homeward,  along  the  Via  Sistina,  to 
the  Hotel  Bristol,  the  two  young  people  felt  as  if 
they  had  known  one  another  all  their  lives.  It  was 
always  so  with  Gordon.  In  one  morning  you  got 
more  intimate  with  him  than  you  could  in  a  month 
with  most  people.  To  be  sure,  that  first  intimacy 
was  all.  You  could  get  no  nearer  to  him,  if  you 
knew  him  forever. 

When  they  reached  the  door  of  the  hotel,  the 
young  man  of  course  declined  an  invitation  to 
enter. 

"  But  you  will  bring  Edgar  to  us  at  once,  — 
this  afternoon,  —  won't  you  ?  "  said  Mr.  Stanton. 

"  This  afternoon  —  he  has  an  engagement  for 
this  afternoon,  I  believe.  Won't  you  be  tired? 
Would  n't  to-morrow  be  better  ? "  Then  seeing 
that  the  delay  was  decidedly  not  approved  of,  he 
added  hastily,  "  or  this  evening.  Would  you  all  be 
visible  this  evening?" 


82  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

The  evening  proved  to  be  acceptable,  and  Gor 
don  went  his  way  in  a  rather  curious  state  of  mind. 
In  the  first  place,  it  was  at  least  an  even  chance 
whether  Edgar  would  be  willing  to  dispose  of  his 
evening  in  that  fashion.  If  he  should  decline — what? 
But  reflection  on  that  subject  soon  gave  place  to 
the  general  thought  of  Priscilla.  Would  she,  could 
she  become  Mrs.  Edgar  Payne  ?  Gordon  decided 
at  once,  with  some  annoyance,  and  also  with  a  cer 
tain  secret  satisfaction,  that  that  solution  of  his 
difficulties  might  as  well  be  abandoned.  He  would 
continue  honestly  to  do  his  best  to  bring  about  the 
match.  That,  of  course.  But  he  felt  it  to  be  quite 
impossible  that  either  love  or  money  could  ever 
make  his  dear  young  friend  acceptable  to  such  a 
pair  of  blue  eyes  as  that. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

"AS  I  RIDE,  AS  I  RIDE" 

A  GROOM  in  the  usual  black  livery,  mounted  on  a 
stout  black  cob,  stood  like  a  statue  before  the 
Countess  Markovski's  door,  while  another  groom 
held  the  Countess's  horse  in  readiness.  This  was  a 
small,  thoroughbred,  black  mare,  slight  and  deli 
cate,  but  finely  formed,  and  with  every  sign  of  nerve 
and  speed  in  the  thin,  shapely  limbs,  and  eager  neck. 
Her  mistress's  whim  was  to  leave  mane  and  tail 
untrimmed  ;  and  the  latter  swept  the  ground.  In  a 
few  minutes  Payne  came  pounding  up  the  street, 
on  a  heavy  red  roan  hack,  who  was  clumsy  enough, 
but  looked  as  if  he  might  manage  to  go,  in  some 
fashion.  His  rider  was  as  awkward  on  horseback  as 
any  one  could  possibly  be ;  yet,  like  his  steed,  he 
gave  the  impression  of  being  able  to  get  there. 

The  servants,  who  had  probably  received  their 
cue,  informed  the  visitor  most  respectfully  that 
her  ladyship  would  be  ready  in  a  moment.  Would 
he  go  in  ?  No,  he  would  wait  there.  So  he  sat, 
stiff  and  frowning,  on  his  arm-gaunt  steed,  whose 
manner  of  standing  contrasted  sharply  enough 
with  the  mare's  controlled  intensity  and  the  per 
fect  form  of  the  groom's  animal. 


84  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

It  was  more  than  a  moment ;  but  at  length  the 
lady  appeared.  Edgar  put  his  hand  clumsily  to  his 
hat,  but  never  offered  to  dismount,  leaving  the  care 
of  seating  her  to  the  footman.  Doubtless,  Antonia 
thought  to  herself  that  before  long  she  would  have 
taught  him  better  manners.  He  atoned  for  his 
rudeness,  in  his  way,  however,  by  staring  at  her 
with  all  his  eyes,  until  she  gave  the  signal  to  de 
part.  She  was  worth  staring  at.  To  be  sure,  with 
the  exception  of  a  wet  bathing  suit,  there  is  no 
garment  more  trying  to  a  woman  than  a  riding 
habit ;  but  the  Countess  Markovski  could  wear 
one,  if  any  one  could.  The  delicate  grace  of  her 
figure,  that  peculiar,  serpentine,  Lamia-like  qual 
ity,  which  we  have  already  noted,  was  wonderfully 
adapted  to  the  simple,  clean  cut  of  the  close-fitting 
gown ;  while  the  firm  twist  of  her  hair  was  cun 
ningly  placed  so  as  to  give  fullest  effect  to  the 
poise  of  her  beautiful  head.  "  Come,"  she  said, 
lifting  her  hand  slightly  and  managing  her  horse 
with  the  ease  of  an  absolute  Amazon.  The  animal 
seemed  to  respond  to  every  motion  and  to  prick  up 
her  ears  for  every  whisper.  "  Come." 

They  set  off  sedately,  with  the  groom  behind, 
passing  first  through  the  heart  of  the  city  towards 
the  Forum  of  Trajan  and  the  Palatine.  "  I  want 
to  get  out  on  the  Appia,"  she  cried.  "  I  have  n't 
been  there  this  year.  Does  it  make  any  difference 
to  you?" 

"  Not  a  bit.    One  part  of  their  old  city  is  all  the 


"AS   I   RIDE,   AS   I   RIDE"  85 

same  as  another  to  me.  But,  say,  are  you  going  to 
have  that  chap  after  us  all  the  way  ?  " 

"  Not  if  you  mind.  We  will  leave  him  at  the 
gate  and  tell  him  to  meet  us  at  the  Porta  San 
Paolo.  We  must  respect  the  proprieties,  you 
know." 

"  I  thought  you  were  above  that  sort  of  thing. 
Propriety  is  for  poor  creatures  like  Gordon." 

"  You  think  property  is  above  propriety  ?  Well, 
there  is  something  in  that." 

They  rode  for  a  while  without  speaking.  The 
crowded  and  noisy  streets  were  not  favorable  to 
conversation.  At  last,  as  they  reached  the  Via 
San  Teodoro,  they  were  left  more  to  themselves. 
Edgar  was  riding  half  a  length  behind  the  Coun 
tess,  watching  her  and  her  horse. 

"  That 's  a  pretty  bit  of  flesh  you  've  got  there. 
Must  have  cost  you  a  thousand  dollars  at  least,  I 
should  say." 

"  She  is  pretty.  I  love  her.  Her  name  is  Sa- 
tanita.  What  she  cost  ?  I  don't  know.  She  was 
the  gift  of  a  very  dear  friend." 

The  naive  meekness  with  which  this  was  said 
would  have  delighted  any  connoisseur ;  but  it  an 
noyed  Edgar.  "  Is  that  so  ?  "  he  muttered,  with  a 
grunt ;  and  rode  in  silence  till  they  reached  the 
Porta  San  Sebastiano.  There  the  Countess  dis 
missed  the  groom,  giving  him  directions  as  she  had 
suggested.  Then  the  two,  passing  through  the  gate, 
rode  out  side  by  side,  along  the  old  highway. 


86  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

"  Now,"  began  the  lady  mischievously,  "  I  '11 
tell  you  all  about  the  ancient  Romans.  They  were 
buried  out  here." 

"  It 's  the  best  thing  that  I  ever  heard  of  them," 
was  the  gruff  reply.  "  You  were  going  to  tell  me 
about  yourself,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  I  am  more  ancient  than  the  Romans  — 
and  not  half  so  interesting.  Wait  till  I  am  buried 
too.  You  may  hear  some  good  of  me  then." 

When  they  had  gone  a  little  further,  she  went 
on  :  "  There  is  the  '  Domine  Quo  Yadis '  Church. 
Don't  you  want  to  see  the  footprint  of  Christ  in 
marble  ?  " 

"  I  say,  Mark  Twain  tells  about  that.  Of  course 
you  've  read  'Innocents  Abroad'  ?"  His  companion 
shook  her  head.  "  Not  read  '  Innocents  Abroad '  ? 
What  have  you  read  ?  But  I  suppose  you  are  n't 
much  of  a  reader,  any  more  than  I  am.  Not  like 
that  infernal  Gordon,  who  always  has  his  nose  in 
a  book.  Mark  's  always  making  fun  of  saints  and 
relics  and  old  masters  and  all  that  stuff.  Say, 
you  're  a  Catholic,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  am.  And  you  're  a  Protestant, 
not  used  to  Catholics,  probably." 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  have  'em  at  home.  Irish,  you  know, 
navvies  and  such  like.  Well,  now,  how  much  of 
that  stuff  do  you  believe  ?  " 

"What  stuff?" 

"  Why,  footprints  in  marble,  and  pieces  of  the 
true  cross,  and  nails,  and  all  the  rest  of  it." 


"AS   I   RIDE,  AS   I   RIDE"  87 

"  I  have  seen,  even  in  my  short  life,  things  a 
good  deal  more  miraculous  than  that." 

"  Then  you  do  believe  in  them  ?  " 

"  I  believe  just  what  my  confessor  tells  me  to 
believe.  That 's  the  easiest  way." 

"  I  say,  do  you  honestly  confess  your  sins  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  I  have  so  very  many  ?  " 

"  My,  but  I  should  like  to  be  that  confessor !  " 

When  they  had  gone  a  little  further,  the  neigh 
borhood  inclined  her  roguishly  to  renew  the  subject. 
"  You  have  seen  the  Catacombs  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Catacombs  ?  No,  what  are  they  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  tombs  of  the  early  Christians,  places 
where  they  fled  from  persecution,  miles  and  miles 
of  long  passages  underground,  often  two  and  three 
stories  deep,  with  little  chapels  and  meeting  places, 
where  the  blessed  martyrs  used  to  live  for  months 
sometimes." 

"  Ugh !  "  grunted  Edgar.  "  I  should  prefer  to 
live  in  the  Auditorium." 

"  Oh,  but  you  have  n't  any  historical  curiosity  at 
all.  Don't  you  feel  the  interest  of  mystery  in  all 
these  things  ?  Don't  you  feel  any  sympathy  with 
those  old  people,  who  gave  their  lives  for  their 
faith  ?  " 

"Not  a  bit.  What  did  they  make  by  it?  A 
parcel  of  precious  fools,  I  should  call  'em.  Catch 
me  getting  martyred  for  anything !  " 

The  Countess  laughed  a  little  silvery  laugh. 

"  Look  here,"  went  on  Edgar.    "  You  're  work- 


88  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

ing  a  big  bluff  on  me.  Did  n't  you  say  the  other 
day  that  you  hated  all  the  dead  people  and  old 
Romans  and  the  rest  of  it,  that  you  were  sick  of 
relics  and  ruins,  and  wanted  to  get  into  the  new 
world  ?  Wha,t  do  you  mean  by  coming  at  me  now 
with  this  talk  about  tombs  and  early  Christians 
and  such  nonsense  ?  " 

"  Let  me  look  at  you,"  she  said  soberly.  "  Are 
you  always  the  same  ?  What  a  grand,  noble  per 
sonage  you  must  be.  I  float  about  all  day,  like  a 
bit  of  thistledown  in  the  wind.  One  minute  I  feel 
strong  and  rash  and  ready  to  defy  gods  and  men ; 
the  next,  I  cower  and  cringe  before  every  blast 
of  Heaven,  and  tell  my  beads  and  shiver  at  the 
thought  of  dim  ghosts  in  windy  corners.  If  I  were 
to  be  in  your  vast  America  now,  with  your  im 
mense  prairies  stretching  out  forever  like  your 
future,  I  should  long  to  be  back  here  among  the 
mouldering  dead." 

"  You  're  a  queer  one,"  remarked  her  companion, 
giving  her  an  almost  superstitious  glance.  "  But 
I  suppose  you  're  a  woman." 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  Countess,  with  a  medita 
tive  air,  "I  suppose  I  am."  She  shook  Satanita 
into  a  quick  trot,  rather  ill  adapted  to  conversation. 

By  the  time  they  approached  the  tomb  of  Caecilia 
Metella,  she  slackened  her  pace  and  allowed  Edgar 
to  get  breath  enough  to  talk.  "  Gas-house  ?  "  he 
said,  pointing  to  the  imposing  structure. 

"No,   no,  barbarian.    Did   you  never   hear  of 


"AS   I   RIDE,  AS   I   RIDE"  89 

Cecilia  Metella  ?  "  He  shook  his  head.  "  Nor  did 
anybody  else  either.  But  that  is  her  tomb  never 
theless.  Suppose  I  were  to  have  a  tomb  like  that. 
4  To  the  memory  of  Antonia,  wife  of '  —  whom 
shall  I  say  ?  Well,  never  mind.  And  they  would 
make  a  legend  about  me.  They  would  say,  for  in 
stance,  that  I  was  a  pious  matron,  with  very  gray 
hair  and  chilly  frigidity,  who  perpetually  visited 
the  poor.  Or,  perhaps,  that  I  was  a  virtuous, 
neglected  spouse,  one  of  the  blue-eyed,  pale,  blond 
kind,  you  know,  who  fold  their  hands  and  wonder 
how  their  husbands  can  desert  such  models  of 
lamblike  innocence  ;  and  that,  after  persecuting  me 
into  the  grave,  my  cruel  tyrant  was  overcome  with 
remorse  and  built  a  splendid  mausoleum  over  my 
remains.  Or  they  will  say  —  they  will  say  —  any 
thing  but  the  truth ;  for,  although  people  declare 
that  truth  will  always  come  out,  it  is  the  only  thing 
that  never  does  in  this  lying  world." 

"  Well,  then,"  suggested  Edgar  in  an  insinuat 
ing  tone,  "  why  not  tell  me  the  truth,  so  that  I  can 
make  it  all  straight  ?  " 

"  No,  thanks.  I  am  interested  in  my  epitaph  at 
present,  not  my  autobiography.  They  differ  like 
the  antipodes."  Again  she  touched  up  her  horse 
and  gave  her  companion  enough  to  do  to  keep  the 
stout,  red  roan  pounding  beside  her. 

They  were  getting  out  into  the  open  now,  the 
vast  ruins  of  the  aqueducts  on  one  side,  and  the 
mountains  hanging  cloudlike  on  the  horizon  ;  but 


90  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

still,  near  at  hand,  they  passed  tomb  after  tomb, 
some  with  four  walls  almost  complete,  though  shorn 
of  all  their  ornaments  and  splendor,  others  mere 
remnants,  hardly  one  stone  left  upon  another. 

"  Graves  !  Graves  !  Graves !  "  said  the  Countess, 
waving  her  hand  toward  them  as  she  passed. 

"  Confound  it !  "  was  the  rough  reply.  "  Why 
do  you  want  to  ride  in  this  country  ?  I  believe  I 
hear  spooks." 

"  Oh,  no  !  They  are  all  dead,  dead  enough.  Dead 
as  one  of  Mrs.  Barton's  receptions.  The  last  scrap 
of  their  old  Roman  dust  has  blown  away  long  ago, 
long  ago.  But  come,  now  we  have  got  beyond  the 
worst  of  it." 

She  drew  in  her  horse  and  walked  slowly  beside 
her  companion.  They  had  passed  Casale  Rotondo 
and  got  out  into  the  free,  open  Campagna,  that 
strange  country  which  hardly  has  its  parallel  any 
where.  The  general  elements  of  the  picture,  al 
though  sombre  and  melancholy,  may,  of  course,  be 
matched  in  other  places :  the  low,  rolling,  naked 
hillocks,  dotted  only  rarely  with  a  deformed  and 
stunted  tree,  the  solitary  shepherd,  clad  in  skins, 
with  staff  and  pointed  hat,  gaunt,  shaggy,  and  for 
lorn.  But  the  combination  of  these  more  natural 
objects  with  some  ever-present  reminder  of  decay 
—  a  bit  of  wall,  a  broken  arch,  a  ruined  tower, 
rendered  more  mute  and  dreary  by  ivy  and  sun 
shine  —  makes  the  most  peculiarly  solemn,  dread, 
and  desolate  landscape  in  the  world. 


"AS   I   RIDE,  AS   I   RIDE"  91 

"  There !  "  continued  Antonia,  stopping  short 
on  a  little  elevation  and  gazing  far  away  into  the 
glimmering  dimness  of  the  sunlit  distance.  "  There ! 
This  is  better.  I  like  this.  This  is  free." 

"  Free  !  "  was  the  discontented  echo.  "  And  all 
that  army  of  spooks  behind  us  !  I  don't  know 
what  you  call  free  ;  but  give  me  the  plains  of  Illi 
nois,  with  miles  and  miles  of  corn  waving  in  the 
sunshine,  just  thousands  of  dollars  growing  right 
up  out  of  the  ground ;  and  don't  talk  to  me  about 
this  dirty,  monotonous,  barren,  malarial  desert." 

"  Plains  of  Illinois  ?  "  was  the  thoughtful  in 
quiry.  "  No  ruins,  no  past,  no  dead,  no  history  ? 
I  wonder  if  I  should  like  it  over  there.  Everything 
is  alive,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  I  guess  everything  's  alive.  Why,  you  go  out 
west,  a  little  further  west,  and  you  '11  see  a  city 
spring  up  in  a  day  or  two.  Alive  !  Why,  over  here 
they  have  n't  a  notion  of  what  living  is.  Hustle  ! 
Well,  I  should  say  we  hustle.  You  ought  to  see 
my  father.  He  's  got  more  schemes  in  his  head  — 
more  railroads,  and  factories,  and  deals  on  the 
market,  and  such  —  than  this  old  Pope  of  Rome 
ever  had  in  all  his  life." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  your  father." 

"  I  guess  you  would.    He 's  just  like  me." 

They  followed  the  Via  Appia  for  a  few  moments 
longer,  and  as  they  went  on  the  country  became 
more  and  more  desolate  and  unfrequented.  Then, 
in  a  little  while,  they  came  to  an  insignificant  by- 


92  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

road,  which  turned  sharp  off  to  the  west,  leading 
them  over  a  fairly  even  country,  toward  the  setting 
sun. 

"  Now,"  cried  the  Countess  suddenly,  "  for  a 
gallop.  How  much  can  you  get  out  of  that  red 
beast  of  yours  ?  " 

"  Not  much,"  said  Edgar  in  disgust.  "  I  say, 
what  do  you  want  to  run  for  ?  " 

"  Because  I  like  it,"  was  the  short  reply.  "  I  '11 
give  you  a  lead.  Catch  me  if  you  can."  So  say 
ing,  she  settled  herself  in  the  saddle,  lifted  her 
hand  a  little,  and  spoke  a  word  to  Satanita.  The 
creature  gathered  her  legs  under  her  and  was  off 
like  a  frightened  rabbit,  while  her  mistress  turned 
to  Edgar,  with  a  burst  of  wayward  laughter.  As 
for  him,  he  muttered  a  curse  under  his  breath,  and 
lashed  the  roan  into  such  a  gallop  as  the  animal 
could  manage ;  but  it  was  vain  to  think  of  keeping 
up  with  his  companion.  Groaning  and  grumbling, 
he  plunged  and  sweated  along,  as  best  he  could, 
keeping  her  more  or  less  clearly  in  view ;  while  she 
rushed  on  in  her  mad  flight,  recklessly  regardless 
of  occasional  obstacles,  now  and  then  turning  in 
the  saddle  to  wave  her  hand  to  him,  with  what  he 
felt  to  be  a  gesture  of  derision. 

At  length,  he  was  gratified  to  see  her  draw  rein 
under  a  little  clump  of  trees,  far,  far  ahead  of 
him ;  and,  proceeding  more  leisurely,  he  finally 
overtook  her.  She  had  dismounted  and  tied  her 
horse  ;  and  was  sitting  by  the  roadside,  her  knees 


"  AS   I   RIDE,  AS   I   RIDE  "  93 

drawn  up,  her  hands  clasped  about  them.  The 
rapid  motion  had  somewhat  disordered  her  hair, 
and  had  heightened  her  color  and  the  brightness 
of  her  eyes.  As  he  came  panting  up,  she  smiled 
mischievously. 

"  Say,  what  in  thunder  did  you  do  that  for  ?  " 
he  cried,  in  his  coarsest  tone,  leaping  off  and  sit 
ting  down  beside  her,  as  close  as  he  dared. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  seldom  know  why  I  do  any 
thing." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  he  sulking,  and 
she  apparently  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of 
the  landscape.  "  So  you  're  going  to  be  married," 
she  began  suddenly,  without  looking  at  him,  as  in 
differently  as  if  she  had  remarked  on  the  weather. 

Edgar  started.  "  I  married  ?  Oh,  you  mean  that 
Stanton  girl." 

"  Did  n't  you  tell  me  so  yourself  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  I  said  my  father  wanted  me 
to  marry  her." 

"  Your  father  is  a  man  who  always  has  his  way, 
is  n't  he?" 

"  By  Jove,  he  can't  make  me  marry,  if  I  don't 
want  to.  Say,  what 's  the  use  of  marrying,  any 
way  ?  " 

"  What  indeed?  "  The  Countess  sat  up  straight 
and  her  eyes  flamed  with  real  —  or  artificial  — 
passion.  "  Marriage  !  Ah,  the  most  ingenious  and 
the  most  despicable  of  all  the  devices  men  have 
imagined  for  the  enslaving  of  women  !  You  did  n't 


94  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

know  that  I  was  a  misanthrope,  a  real,  real  man- 
hater,  did  you  ?  You  did  n't  know  that  I  have  an 
utter  and  ineradicable  contempt  for  every  member 
of  your  miserable  sex,  that  my  one  wish  and  desire 
is  to  be  revenged  on  them,  that,  that  —  in  short, 
you  are  very  young  and  there  are  so  many  things 
you  don't  know  that  a  midsummer  day  would  n't 
suffice  even  to  hint  at  them.  Poor  child !  "  She 
looked  at  him  with  an  expression  of  ineffable  pity. 

Edgar  sat  open-mouthed  in  amazement  at  this 
outburst.  Yet  the  scorn  of  it  was  so  beautiful  that 
it  only  enthralled  him  all  the  more.  "  I  say,"  he 
stammered,  "don't  talk  like  that.  You  scare  a 
feller.  What 's  the  matter  with  men  ?  They  're 
all  right,  if  you  take  'em  right.  Only  you  don't 
want  the  palavery  ones  like  Gordon,  such  as  you  're 
used  to.  You  want  somebody  plain  and  frank  and 
honest  like  me." 

She  shook  her  head ;  but  he  saw,  or  thought  he 
saw,  just  a  gleam  of  tenderness  pass  through  her 
eyes.  "  Are  you  plain  and  frank  and  honest  ?  " 
she  said. 

"  That 's  my  figure,  though  I  'm  not  handsome. 
You  ought  to  come  to  America,  and  get  out  of  this 
rotten  old  world." 

"  Don't  they  lie  in  America,  and  call  self-inter 
est  ideal  devotion,  and  beasts,  men  ?  Ah,  how 
easily  we  are  led  to  think  that  Heaven  is  every 
where  where  we  are  not !  "  She  bowed  her  head, 
and  sobbed,  and  the  tears  flowed ;  and  she  suffered 


"AS   I   RIDE,  AS   I   RIDE"  95 

Edgar  to  take  her  hand  for  just  an  instant.  Then 
she  sprang  up  quickly.  "  Allans ! "  she  cried. 
"  Never  let  us  sit  down  and  think,  never,  never  ! 
If  we  could  gallop  on  and  on  and  on  to  the  end  of 
time  !  " 

So  they  remounted  and  rode  away,  but  at  a  less 
furious  pace.  Antonia  talked  little,  however. 
What  she  did  say  was  very  confiding  and  gentle. 
Now  and  then  she  looked  at  her  companion  with 
a  melting  tenderness  which  he  had  not  seen  in 
her  face  before,  and  which  he  found  simply  dis 
tracting.  The  by-road  soon  brought  them  out  into 
the  Via  Laurentina,  and  following  this,  they  came 
nearer  and  nearer  to  the  city.  When  they  reached 
San  Paolo,  the  sun  was  almost  down  and  the  cold 
autumnal  shadows  were  gathering  about  the  lonely 
edifice. 

"  I  want  to  go  in  and  say  my  prayers,"  said  the 
Countess  softly.  "  I  love  the  vast  solitude  of  this 
church.  Will  you  come  ?  " 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  answered  Edgar.  "  Though  as 
to  prayers  "  —  The  Countess  pressed  her  finger  to 
her  lip. 

They  dismounted  and  gave  their  horses  in  charge 
to  a  man  at  the  door.  The  hour  for  closing  was 
near  at  hand ;  but  the  attendant  seemed  to  know 
the  Countess  and  bowed  as  she  passed. 

"  Give  the  man  a  franc  or  two,"  she  whispered 
to  Edgar,  who  obeyed,  with  a  sour  grimace. 

Inside,  they  found  themselves  alone.    The  huge 


96  THE  PRIVATE   TUTOR 

and  somewhat  heavy  body  of  the  building  was 
rendered  even  more  sepulchral  than  usual  by  the 
dim  light  of  the  late  autumn  afternoon,  which  fell 
with  uncertain  radiance  on  the  solid  and  vulgar 
splendors  of  porphyry,  alabaster,  and  malachite. 
The  Countess,  bowed  into  an  attitude  of  the  deep 
est  devotion,  walked  swiftly  past  the  high  altar  to 
one  of  the  small  transept  chapels  on  the  further 
side.  Then  she  knelt,  and  seemed  to  be  absorbed  in 
the  most  passionate  prayer.  Edgar  followed  and 
looked  on  in  amazement.  The  wilds  of  America 
had  never  presented  him  with  a  specimen  like  this. 
For  full  fifteen  minutes  the  Countess  remained 
absolutely  still  and  rapt  in  her  devotions,  leaving 
her  humble  adorer  to  bite  his  fingers  and  gaze  at 
the  bowed,  slight,  shapely  black  figure,  first  in  as 
tonishment,  then  in  curious  interrogation,  finally  * 
in  disgusted  impatience.  At  length,  she  rose  with 
out  a  word,  walked  back  as  swiftly  and  quietly  as 
she  had  come  ;  and  in  a  moment,  they  were  on 
horseback  again,  making  their  way  homeward. 
Antonia's  mood  had  changed  entirely,  however. 
"  Ah !  "  she  said,  "  I  have  given  to  Heaven  that 
which  was  Heaven's.  Now  for  the  world  again." 
And  she  talked  and  she  talked,  flooding  the  be 
wildered  Edgar  with  a  stream  of  Roman  gossip, 
bitter,  vivid,  fascinating ;  quick  bons  mots,  delicate 
and  insinuating  anecdote,  malicious  portraits, 
sparkling  with  truth  and  satire.  Through  all  this 
she  contrived  to  mingle  a  thread  of  skillful,  bewil- 


"AS   I   RIDE,  AS   I   RIDE"  97 

dering,  intoxicating  flattery,  with  here  and  there 
a  hint  of  wayward  tenderness,  far  more  than 
enough  to  turn  the  head  of  a  more  sophisticated 
youth  than  he  with  whom  she  had  to  deal.  Per 
haps  she  was  quite  aware  of  this  and  talked  as 
much  for  her  own  pleasure  as  for  his.  At  any  rate, 
the  subjugation  was  complete.  When  he  parted 
from  her  at  her  door,  he  cried,  "  Say,  I  'd  rather 
hear  you  talk  than  read  the  best  money  article 
that  ever  was  written." 


CHAPTER  IX 
HIS  FATHER'S  SON 

THE  Stanton s  were  sitting  in  their  parlor  at  the 
Hotel  Bristol,  after  the  lengthy  and  solemn  table 
d'hote  dinner  was  finished.  Although  they  had  been 
in  Rome  but  twenty-four  hours,  the  room  was  as 
comfortable  and  homelike  as  if  they  had  lived  in 
it  always.  The  courier,  who  had  reached  the  city 
before  them,  had  selected  a  delightful  apartment, 
which  looked  almost  directly  toward  the  south.  He 
had  hired  a  piano  and  arranged  the  larger  articles 
of  furniture ;  and,  after  Mrs.  Stanton  arrived,  a 
few  directions  from  her,  and  a  few  hours'  manipu 
lation  by  her  maid,  had  done  the  rest.  A  bright 
wood  fire  snapped  and  sparkled  in  the  grate,  books 
and  bric-a-brac  were  scattered  about  the  tables, 
pillows  and  rugs  adapted  the  bare  hotel  chairs  and 
sofas  to  the  human  anatomy,  photographs  of  home 
friends  and  places  caught  the  eye  from  walls  and 
tables.  Life  under  such  conditions  is  a  very  differ 
ent  thing  from  the  dreary  sojourn  in  dirty  pensions, 
at  eight  francs  a  day. 

The  company  seated  in  this  attractive  apartment 
consisted  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stanton  and  Priscilla, 
Mr.  Edwin  Stanton,  and  an  intimate  friend  of  his, 


HIS   FATHER'S   SON  99 

Mr.  Edward  Parsons.  Priscilla  was  dressed  in  a 
light  gray,  semi-evening  gown,  which  clearly  indi 
cated  a  recent  visit  to  Paris.  It  not  only  fitted  per 
fectly,  but  was  designed  in  such  a  fashion  as  to  bring 
out,  to  the  utmost,  the  soft  roundness  of  her  figure, 
without  intensifying  it  in  too  marked  a  manner. 
She  wore  no  ornaments,  except  an  antique  gold  pin 
at  her  throat,  and  one  small  diamond  on  her  finger. 

Uncle  Edwin  was  in  a  state  of  unspeakable  fe 
licity.  Three  members  of  his  beloved  family  had 
come  to  relieve  his  Roman  solitude  ;  and,  moreover, 
the  beauty  and  grace  of  Priscilla  quite  surpassed 
his  expectations,  and  charmed  him,  like  the  sight 
and  odor  of  a  rare  and  lovely  flower.  His  delight 
manifested  itself  constantly  in  quaint  and  pleasant 
jests,  which  made  you  laugh  more  in  sympathy 
with  him  than  at  the  simple  humor  of  the  things 
themselves.  He  accompanied  these  with  gleeful 
chuckles  and  the  frequent  rubbing  of  his  hands, 
now  and  then  passing  one  of  them  over  the  lower 
part  of  his  face  and  chin. 

Mr.  Edward  Parsons  was  well  known  in  Rome 
and  almost  everywhere  else.  He  was  a  native  of 
Plymouth,  Massachusetts.  In  his  younger  days  he 
had  been  a  sea-captain,  in  command  of  an  Indiaman  ; 
and  occasionally  he  would  mix  the  salt  flavor  of 
those  old  voyages  with  the  very  different  matter  of 
his  ordinary  conversation.  But  he  had  never  loved 
his  trade ;  and,  when  his  father  died,  leaving  him 
a  small  independence,  he  betook  himself  to  idling, 


100  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

wandering,  and  talking.  He  was  no  scholar,  hardly 
even  a  reader;  but  he  had  a  most  extraordinary 
love  for  beauty  and  appreciation  of  things  spiritual. 
He  felt  Nature  as  poets  feel  her.  He  felt  art  as 
artists  feel  it.  He  was  absolutely  free  from  con 
vention  in  these  matters,  yielding  himself  to  the 
direct  impression,  without  care  for  the  theories  of 
professors,  or  the  cant  of  learned  amateurs.  Then, 
he  liked  to  talk  —  how  he  did  like  to  talk.  Not  to 
converse  ;  for  he  never  listened.  But  he  would  pour 
you  forth  an  endless  stream  of  poetry  and  rhetoric, 
abuse  and  praise,  equally  extravagant,  of  everything 
and  everybody,  as  long  as  you  would  listen,  and 
longer.  He  repeated  himself,  like  all  great  talkers, 
and  could  be  rather  tedious ;  yet,  even  when  you 
thought  you  had  heard  him  all  out  a  thousand 
times,  you  might  take  a  quiet  walk  with  him  and 
he  would  almost  reveal  to  you  a  new  world.  He 
would  take  you  by  the  buttonhole  in  a  crowded 
street,  stop  you  stock-still,  put  his  face  almost  into 
yours,  and  repeat  a  stanza  of  Shelley,  who  was  his 
idol ;  and  although  you  knew  that  every  one  was 
gazing  and  laughing  at  you,  his  manner  was  so  in 
tense,  so  earnest,  and  so  absolutely  simple,  that  you 
felt  the  beautiful  verses  as  you  had  never  felt  them 
before.  He  was  a  man  of  middle  height,  thick 
and  solid,  somewhat  bent  and  heavy-gaited  like  a 
sailor  ;  immense  leonine  head,  with  thick  gray  hair, 
bushy  gray  mustache,  thick  protruding  lips,  large 
nose,  large  ears,  large  chin. 


HIS  FATHER'S 

The  friendship  between  this  man  and  Mr.  Edwin 
Stanton  was  very  intimate  and  very  lovely  to  see  ; 
lovely,  because  it  was  wholly  founded  on  what  was 
best  and  highest  in  their  natures,  their  sensibility, 
their  love  for  the  purest  and  most  beautiful  things. 
There  was  nearly  twenty  years'  difference  in  their 
ages ;  but  this  did  not  seem  to  affect  the  relation 
between  them,  except  that  Parsons  always  treated 
his  elder  with  a  gentle  and  considerate  reverence. 

So,  as  the  Stantons  sat  before  their  fire  in  the 
Hotel  Bristol,  Mr.  Parsons  was  talking.  He  had 
not  met  any  one  of  them  before ;  but  that  made  no 
difference.  His  conversation  never  had  the  slightest 
reference  to  the  wealth,  occupation,  or  condition  of 
his  hearers  ;  and  he  would  talk  just  as  earnestly  to 
a  young  girl  or  a  poor  artist  as  to  a  duke  or  a  mil 
lionaire.  This  was  a  great  part  of  his  charm  —  to 
artists  and  young  girls. 

Mr.  Stanton  had  just  ventured  some  observa 
tion  to  the  effect  that  he  should  not  be  sorry  to 
see  America  again.  "  Yes,"  said  Parsons,  "  it  is  a 
great  country.  We  are  the  first  to  teach  the  world 
that  simple  living  can  be  respectable.  The  servility 
over  here  is  disgusting.  Monarchs  and  aristocrats 
—  pah !  What  are  they  beside  a  man  ?  " 

"  Then  the  soldiers,"  Mr.  Stanton  went  on.  "We 
have  just  come  from  Germany,  and  it  seems  as  if 
every  other  man  there  wore  a  uniform.  I  hate  to 
think  we  shall  ever  come  to  that  at  home." 

"No,    no,"  was    the    reassuring   answer;    "we 


i03  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

shall  never  come  to  that.  The  world  progresses. 
The  great  mark  of  the  American  people  is  com 
mon  sense.  Their  common  sense  will  never  tolerate 
such  an  absurdity  as  a  military  government.  War 
is  outgrown.  Wealth  is  vulgar  and  war  outgrown. 
You  will  never  see  the  civilized  nations  like  Eng 
land  and  France  and  the  United  States  at  war 
with  each  other  again." 

"  But,  Mr.  Parsons,"  asked  Mr.  Stanton  mildly, 
"  if  you  think  so  much  of  your  own  country,  why 
don't  you  visit  it  ?  Why  do  you  spend  the  greater 
part  of  your  life  over  here  ?  " 

"  Ah,  ha !  "  answered  he,  with  a  peculiar,  kindly 
snuffle,  most  characteristic,  "you  see,  everything 
is  new  over  there,  no  associations,  no  art,  no  his 
toric  charm.  For  an  idler,  there  is  nothing  like 
reminiscences  of  the  past.  It  will  all  come  in  time. 
In  five  hundred  years  the  Anglo-Saxon,  the  Irish, 
the  German,  and,  for  all  I  know,  the  Chinese,  will 
be  blended  into  one  stock ;  the  American  will  be 
born,  and  we  shall  have  a  literature  and  an  art 
that  will  be  worthy  of  us.  But  now  life  in  the 
United  States  is  painful  —  painful.  You  see  the 
average  American  in  the  street,  and  his  face  is 
anxious,  wire-drawn.  He  is  thin,  emaciated,  and  so 
full  of  care,  and  so  vulgar  with  his  money.  Then 
they  think  they  have  society  in  Boston.  There  is 
Ce-lia —  Ce-lia  "  —  pronouncing  with  a  peculiar 
drawl  the  name  —  not  Celia  —  of  a  lady  whom 
Boston  honored  for  many  years  — "  Celia,  she 


HIS   FATHER'S  SON  103 

thought  she  was  a  poet,  and  had  a  salon,  and  was 
witty ;  and  all  the  little  Bostonians  used  to  gather 
round  and  pay  court  to  her.  Oh,  it  is  delicious  — 
delicious.  Then  they  think  they  have  literature 
—  poor  William  used  to  think  he  was  a  literary 
man  —  -  Oh,  that  feller,  that  feller !  —  pompous  — 
and  pretentious  —  and  ingenious  " 

There  is  no  reason  to  suppose  the  stream  would 
ever  have  ceased  to  flow,  if,  at  that  moment,  Gor 
don  and  Edgar  had  not  been  announced. 

Gordon  entered  first,  as  easily  as  usual,  although 
the  burden  of  his  situation  was  heavier  on  his  mind 
than  anything  he  had  ever  known  before.  Edgar 
followed  him  loutishly,  not  with  any  suggestion  of 
shyness,  which  is  always  so  easily  forgiven,  but 
with  that  peculiar,  boorish,  insolent  indifference 
which  exasperated  every  one.  The  first  introduc 
tions  were  got  through  somehow  and  Gordon  man 
aged  to  seat  himself  close  to  Priscilla,  who  had 
drawn  away  from  the  others,  to  escape  the  heat  of 
the  fire.  The  two  met  with  a  frankness  and  ease 
which  usually  belong  only  to  old  acquaintance,  and 
which  were  bred  partly  of  their  natural  dispositions 
and  partly  of  the  peculiar  circumstances  in  which 
they  were  placed. 

As  for  Edgar,  it  was  evident  that  Mr.  Stanton 
was  determined  to  do  everything  that  could  be 
done  to  put  things  on  the  most  friendly  basis.  He 
placed  the  young  man  in  a  chair  between  himself 
and  Mrs.  Stanton,  and  began  a  series  of  affection- 


104  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

ate  questions ;  while  uncle  Edwin  looked  on  curi 
ously  from  the  other  side  of  the  fire,  and  Mr. 
Parsons  slouched  down  in  his  chair,  his  hands 
folded  on  his  stomach  and  his  eyes  half  closed,  in 
an  attitude  usual  with  him  when  waiting  for  a 
chance  to  seize  his  conversational  prey. 

"  And  what  do  you  hear  from  your  father,  my 
dear  boy  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Stan  ton. 

The  quiet  kindness  with  which  he  was  received 
made  no  more  impression  on  Edgar  than  cool  in 
solence  would  have  done.  It  merely  appeared  clear 
to  him  that  these  people  were  set  on  catching  him, 
at  any  price.  So  he  lounged  back  indifferently  in 
his  chair,  crossed  his  legs,  and  did  everything  pos 
sible  to  show  that  he  was  not  to  be  caught  so 
easily.  "  Oh,  father 's  all  right,  I  guess,"  he 
answered. 

"  Does  he  write  to  you  often  ?  " 

"  No.  I  believe  he  writes  to  Gordon  oftener 
than  he  does  to  me.  Notifies  me  that  he  has  paid 
my  drafts.  That 's  all  I  want." 

"  Don't  you  think  he  could  be  persuaded  to  join 
us  out  here  ?  " 

Edgar  closed  one  eye,  with  indescribable  jocular 
ity.  "Don't  speak  of  it.  What  would  we  want 
the  old  gentleman  out  here  for  ?  " 

"  I  thought  he  might  enjoy  seeing  the  sights 
with  you  and  all  the  rest  of  us." 

"  That  is  n't  his  style,  you  know.  What  would 
anybody  want  to  be  in  this  old  town  for,  when  they 


HIS   FATHER'S   SON  105 

could  be  doing  the  trick  in  the  market  every 
day  ?  "  Here  the  youth  launched  forth  on  one  of 
his  customary  tirades  against  Rome  and  all  things 
Roman. 

It  was  curious  to  watch  the  faces  of  his  auditors. 
Mr.  Stanton  wore  the  look  of  painful  self-restraint 
with  which  we  regard  an  obnoxious  person  who  is 
made  sacred  to  us  by  associations  we  are  bound  to 
respect.  Nay,  more,  there  was  real  tragedy  in  his 
eyes,  when  one  thought  of  his  old  friendship  and 
this  bitter  shattering  of  his  hopes.  Mrs.  Stanton's 
amiable  countenance  came  as  near  to  expressing 
disgust  as  her  natural  kindliness  would  permit. 
Uncle  Edwin  showed  undisguised  distress,  not 
only  in  his  features,  but  in  his  whole  attitude. 
Even  Mr.  Parsons  half  opened  his  eyes  to  inspect 
this  curious  animal  which  wanted  to  do  all  the  talk 
ing.  As  for  Gordon  and  Priscilla,  sitting  in  the 
half-shadow  behind  the  rest,  they  understood  each 
other  and  the  significance  of  the  spectacle.  Gordon 
looked  at  her  and  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  utter 
helplessness;  and  her  dimples  half  formed  them 
selves  into  a  responsive  smile. 

After  a  few  moments,  Mr.  Stanton  feebly  en 
deavored  to  effect  a  diversion.  "  Probably  some 
of  the  more  modern  cities  please  you  better.  I 
daresay  you  found  London  attractive." 

"London!"  was  the  prompt  response.  "Lon 
don  !  I  don't  want  to  hear  anything  about  London. 
It 's  worse  than  Rome.  Dirty,  foggy,  nasty  place ! 


106  THE  PRIVATE   TUTOR 

And  then,  those  English ;  snobs,  from  the  word  go. 
Manners  —  they  don't  know  what  manners  are  "  — 
here  Mrs.  Stanton  gasped ;  but  the  torrent  rolled 
on,  quite  regardless  of  any  gasp  of  hers. 

In  a  few  moments,  at  the  faint  suggestion  of  a 
pause,  Mr.  Stanton  made  another  effort.  "  I  'm 
glad  you  are  so  truly  American  in  your  tastes,"  he 
said.  "  But  surely  you  like  Paris  ?  " 

"  Ah,  that 's  another  story !  Paris  is  the  place 
for  me.  Right  up  to  date,  you  know.  Of  course, 
it  is  n't  quite  like  New  York ;  but  the  stores  are 
good  and  the  girls  —  oh,  my —  the  girls  —  we  can't 
beat  them  at  home  anyhow." 

Mr.  Stanton  saw  that  this  was  the  most  unfor 
tunate  start  of  all,  and  hastened  to  shift  to  a  more 
frigid  locality,  although  he  already  thought,  with 
some  concern,  of  what  would  happen  when  he 
reached  the  end  of  his  geographical  topics.  "  Let 
me  see.  You  went  to  Switzerland  from  Paris,  I 
believe  ?  " 

"  I  have  n't  been  to  Switzerland  yet,  and  I  don't 
want  to  go.  I  don't  see  why  anybody  should  want 
to  tramp  up  mountains  just  to  roll  down  'em  again. 
They  say  there  are  good  hotels  there ;  but  give  me 
a  nice  flat  country  like  there  is  round  Chicago. 
The  Alps  —  I  've  got  no  use  for  'em." 

Here  Mr.  Parsons  was  moved  to  attempt  a 
diversion,  thinking  the  young  man  had  had  it  all 
his  own  way  long  enough.  "What  your  young 
friend  says  is  interesting,  Mr.  Stanton. »  He  ex- 


HIS   FATHER'S   SON  107 

presses  the  natural  instinct  of  humanity,  which 
runs  to  plain,  arable  land.  All  our  passion  for 
the  frightful  and  the  picturesque  is  an  acquired 
taste,  like  pickles  —  like  pickles.  The  Romans 
hated  mountains  and  found  them  hideous  and  hor 
rible.  So  did  the  men  of  the  Renaissance.  It  was 
only  a  hundred  years  ago  that  Switzerland  was  in 
vented.  Rousseau  and  Byron  discovered  it,  just  as 
Watt  discovered  the  steam  engine.  Ah,  those  fine 
lines  of  Byron  — 

'Tome 
High  mountains  are  a  feeling.' 

Now  Ruskin  " 

But  Edgar  could  n't  stand  this.  Mr.  Parsons's 
first  sentence  had  met  his  approval.  After  that,  his 
thoughts  wandered  to  his  ordinary  interests ;  and 
it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  Mr.  Stanton  was 
a  millionaire  and  well  known  on  the  New  York 
market.  "  I  say,  Mr.  Stanton,"  he  interrupted 
sharply,  "  what  do  you  think  of  the  market  at 
home  ?  That  was  a  neat  slump  in  Butterville  and 
Zion,  was  n't  it  ?  " 

Mr.  Stanton  glanced  at  Parsons  in  piteous 
apology,  and  answered  stiffly :  "  I  have  n't  looked 
over  the  papers  for  a  day  or  two.  I  try  to  keep 
business  out  of  my  mind  here  as  much  as  pos 
sible." 

Edgar  stared.  "  Out  of  your  mind  ?  I  don't  see 
the  use  of  that.  I  should  think  you  'd  come  to 
grief  pretty  quick,  if  you  did  keep  it  out  of  your 


108  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

mind.  It  was  n't  by  keeping  it  out  of  your  mind 
that  you  made  your  pile,  now  was  it  ?  " 

The  old  friend  of  Mr.  Payne  senior  remembered 
that  friendship  and  tried  to  keep  his  patience. 
"  No,"  he  answered ;  "  when  I  was  a  young  man 
and  had  to  succeed  and  make  my  way,  I  thought 
about  money  most  of  the  time  and  about  very 
little  else.  That  is  just  why  I  think  of  other 
things  now,  as  far  as  possible." 

"  Well,"  observed  Edgar  with  a  grin,  intended 
to  show  that  he  knew  he  was  being  fooled,  "  that 
beats  me.  But  I  suppose  it  don't  do  to  talk  about 
these  things  before  women  and  ministers."  Then 
he  added  meditatively  :  "  Besides,  I  guess  you  've 
got  it  all  tucked  away  in  gilt-edge  bonds  —  huh  — 
three  and  a  half  per  cent.  Would  n't  suit  me,  I 
know.  When  I  get  where  you  are,  I  just  want  to 
see  it  pile  up  —  and  pile  up —  Oh,  I  tell  you, 
there  's  nothing  like  it !  " 

There  was  a  pause,  while  the  speaker  remained 
absorbed  in  the  ecstatic  contemplation  of  his  future. 
Mr.  Stanton  sought  in  vain  for  some  safe  and  pos 
sible  subject  of  conversation.  Before  he  had  found 
any  such,  Edgar  glanced  round  the  company  and 
got  on  his  feet.  "  Well,"  he  said,  "  guess  I  '11  be 
going !  I  've  got  some  papers  to  read  at  home.  I 
thought  father  'd  kind  of  like  to  have  me  come 
round." 

As  he  made  his  way  towards  the  door,  Mr. 
Stanton,  who  rose,  as  did  the  others,  tried  to  utter 


HIS   FATHER'S   SON  109 

some  polite  regret  at  the  sudden  departure,  or  at 
least,  some  manner  of  farewell;  but  the  words 
stuck  in  his  throat. 

"  You  stay,  Gordy,"  said  Edgar,  as  he  went  out. 
"  Stay  and  praise  me  up,"  he  added,  with  a  signifi 
cant  smile. 


CHAPTER  X 
A  HINT  OF  EROS 

CHILL  and  solemn  silence  settled  on  the  company 
when  Edgar  had  departed.  Gordon  had  stepped 
forward,  as  if  to  take  his  leave,  and  stood  quietly, 
with  his  hand  on  the  corner  of  the  mantel.  Priscilla 
dropped  back  into  her  chair  again  at  the  further 
side  of  the  room,  and,  in  a  second  or  two,  the  others 
did  the  same.  An  expression  of  mild  amusement, 
restrained  by  politeness,  settled  on  Mr.  Parsons's 
countenance.  Uncle  Edwin  looked  distressed,  to  a 
point  that  was  painful  to  see.  Mr.  Stanton's  face 
suggested  disgust,  varied  with  some  anxiety ;  and 
his  wife's  showed  nothing  but  disgust  pure  and 
simple.  Gordon  watched  them  all,  feeling,  for  his 
own  part,  a  very  great  sense  of  relief.  After  this 
scene,  no  further  explanations  as  to  Edgar's  char 
acter  would  be  likely  to  be  required  from  him.  He 
did  feel  sorry  that  things  had  turned  out  in  this 
way ;  but  he  had  foreseen  the  catastrophe  so  long 
that  he  was  not  in  the  least  taken  aback. 

At  length  Mr.  Stanton  spoke.  "  Has  Mr.  Payne 
lived  very  much  with  his  son,  Mr.  Gordon  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  very  little,  hardly  at  all.  Edgar's  mo 
ther  died,  as  you  know,  when  he  was  very  young. 


A  HINT  OF  EROS  111 

His  father  has  been  busy  always.  The  son  has  gen 
erally  lived  with  —  with  servants,  when  he  was  not 
away  at  school." 

"  That  has  been  unfortunate,  I  think." 

Again  there  was  a  moment's  pause.  "  I  suppose 
I  had  better  say  good-night  also,"  began  Gordon, 
with  hesitation ;  for  he  much  preferred  to  remain, 
and  he  could  hardly  let  his  intercourse  with  the 
Stantons  end  just  there. 

But  Mrs.  Stanton  interrupted  him  cordially. 
"  By  no  means.  Why  should  you  ?  We  hope  you 
will  make  yourself  at  home  with  us  whenever  you 
are  disposed  to  do  so." 

And  Priscilla  spoke  up,  in  her  clear,  quiet  voice  : 
"  Come,  Mr.  Gordon,  I  want  you  to  go  on  with  your 
good  work  of  this  morning.  There  are  a  dozen  ques 
tions  I  want  to  ask.  I  have  my  Baedeker  here  all 
ready." 

So,  for  the  moment,  Edgar  was  put  aside,  if  not 
forgotten.  The  two  young  people  established  them 
selves  at  a  table  on  the  further  side  of  the  room, 
with  Baedeker  before  them,  and  their  elders  con 
tinued  chatting  round  the  fire ;  or  rather,  Mr.  Par 
sons  chatted,  and  the  others  listened.  Now  and  then 
the  fervor  of  his  eloquence  would  break  in  on 
Gordon's  murmured  explanations. 

"First,"  began  Priscilla,  "  I  want  to  see  pictures. 
Where  are  the  pictures  ?  " 

"Pictures?"  was  the  dubious  answer.  "In 
Rome  ?  There  are  no  pictures." 


112  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

"  No  pictures  ?  "  She  looked  at  him  with  dis 
may.  "  Why,  but  all  along  I  have  been  saying  to 
myself,  '  Wait  till  you  get  to  Some.' " 

"  Titian  and  Botticelli  did  not  satisfy  you,  then  ? 
You  hoped  to  improve  on  Botticelli's  Venus  ?  " 

"  No,  no  —  it  was  because  I  enjoyed  those  so 
much.  I  wondered  how  there  could  be  anything 
more  beautiful ;  but  in  Rome  I  thought  of  course 
there  must  be." 

Gordon  leaned  back  and  looked  at  her.  "  You 
are  a  very  remarkable  young  lady,"  he  said. 

"  Ah,  now  you  're  making  fun  of  me.  You  think 
I  'm  one  of  those  awful  females  who  want  to  im 
prove  themselves.  I  'm  not,  the  least  bit  in  the 
world.  I  'm  perfectly  contented  with  myself,  as  the 
Lord  made  me." 

"  Then  you  certainly  are  a  remarkable  young 
lady." 

She  put  the  observation  aside  with  a  little  wave 
of  her  hand.  "  But  I  enjoy  what  is  beautiful  — 
what  seems  to  me  beautiful  —  even  if  I  do  come 
from  Chicago.  And  nothing  in  Europe  has  pleased 
me  like  the  pictures." 

"  Not  even  the  shops  in  Paris  ?  " 

"  Ah,  well,  perhaps  we  must  except  the  shops  in 
Paris.  But  now  about  the  pictures  in  Rome  — 
what  do  you  mean  by  saying  there  are  none  ?  How 
about  the  Sistine  Chapel  —  and  the  Aurora  —  and 
Beatrice  Cenci?" 

"  Well,  what  more  is  there  ?    Sacred  and  Pro- 


A   HINT  OF   EROS  113 

fane  Love,  and  Guide's  Saint  Michael,  and  one  here 
and  one  there,  mostly  Bolognese  at  that.  But  there 
are  no  great  collections,  like  the  Louvre  and  the 
Uffizzi.  I  'd  rather  have  the  pictures  in  the  little 
gallery  at  Antwerp  than  all  there  are  in  Rome." 

"  Positively,  I  want  to  go  away,"  was  the  de 
pressed  answer.  "  What  is  there  here  then  ?  " 

Before  he  replied,  Gordon  paused  a  moment 
to  listen  to  one  of  Mr.  Parsons' s  tirades,  which 
had  reached  its  climax.  "  Literature  ?  "  he  cried, 
"  where  is  there  any  literature  in  America  ?  Long 
fellow  ?  "  He  began  to  grind  an  imaginary  hand- 
organ  :  — 

'* '  Tell  me  not,  in  mournful  numbers, 
Life  is  but  an  empty  dream,'  — 

Whittier  ?  I  believe  '  Maud  Muller '  is  supposed  to 
be  a  ballad,  —  a  ballad  in  sugar  candy,  with  a  pink 
shepherdess  and  white  sheep  in  a  confectioner's 
window.  Emerson,  you  say  ?  Ah,  that  was  a  man. 
4  Give  me  health  and  a  day,  and  I  will  make  the 
pomp  of  emperors  ridiculous.'  That  has  the  right 
ring.  That  is  glorious.  But  he  was  so  thin  —  no 
blood  in  him  —  no  passion  —  all  intellect  —  all 
brain.  The  truth  is,  that  atmosphere  of  Boston 
Unitarianism  is  hopeless  —  hopeless  —  hopeless  " 
—  the  last  words  died  away  in  a  peculiar  snuf 
fling  murmur,  and  the  conversation  dropped  for 
a  moment. 

"  Do  you  know  this  Mr.  Parsons  ?  He  seems 
interesting,"  said  Priscilla  to  Gordon  softly. 


114  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

"  He  is  interesting  —  one  of  the  most  interest 
ing  talkers  I  ever  knew." 

Priscilla  turned  over  the  leaves  of  Baedeker  in 
silent  abstraction,  thinking,  perhaps,  of  Edgar,  or 
of  something  else.  Gordon  watched  her,  and  she 
was  charming  to  watch,  her  dimples  smoothed  into 
seriousness,  her  long  lashes  half  drooped  over  her 
eyes.  "  I  have  seen  girls  from  Chicago  before," 
he  began ;  "  but  I  never  saw  one  like  you.  Most 
of  them  don't  care  for  pictures." 

"  There  are  a  good  many  girls  in  Chicago,  you 
know.  Why  should  they  all  be  alike  ?  In  the 
school  that  I  went  to,  there  actually  were  a  number 
of  girls  who  might  almost  have  come  from  the  East, 
though  I  suppose  an  eastern  man  will  hardly  be 
lieve  it.  But  don't  let 's  talk  about  me.  It  is  n't 
interesting.  I  want  to  talk  about  Rome.  I  want  to 
get  into  the  Roman  atmosphere.  I  have  n't  yet." 

"  That 's  just  it.  You  've  got  to  get  into  the 
atmosphere.  You  can't  do  it  quickly.  At  least,  I 
don't  know  of  any  way.  Perhaps  losing  yourself 
for  twenty-four  hours  all  alone  in  the  Catacombs 
might  answer.  It  is  n't  any  one  thing.  There  are 
no  pictures,  as  I  told  you.  And  the  sculpture  gets 
to  be  rather  white  and  melancholy.  It  cools  your 
enthusiasm,  when  you  find  that  the  best  of  it,  after 
deducting  modern  toes  and  noses,  is  mostly  Roman 
copies  of  late  Greek  imitations  of  unknown  origi 
nals.  The  later  churches  are  tawdry,  ugly,  and 
vulgar ;  and  the  old  ones  are  just  as  ugly,  and  cold 


A   HINT  OF   EROS  115 

and  ruinous.  The  ancient  ruins  themselves  are  frag 
mentary  and  puzzling  individually,  and  depressing 
and  monotonous  in  the  mass.  Then,  worse  than 
anything  else,  is  modern  Rome,  which  is  hideous, 
and  the  modern  Roman,  who  is  unspeakable.  Yet, 
after  all,  Rome  is  Rome.  When  you  've  been  here 
a  few  weeks,  you  '11  find  it  getting  hold  of  you 
somehow  or  other ;  and  when  it  has  once  got  hold, 
it  never  lets  go." 

Priscilla  watched  him  and  listened  with  a  keen, 
quiet  interest  that  was  very  flattering.  "  You  spoke 
of  the  ruins,"  she  said.  "  Does  one  care  for  those  ?  " 

"  Yes,  one  does,  one  in  a  thousand.  The  real 
charm  of  Rome  is  mainly  in  the  ruins.  But  don't 
take  any  guide.  Use  your  own  Baedeker,  or  your 
Middleton,  and  work  them  out  by  yourself,  wall 
by  wall,  stone  by  stone.  It  gets  to  be  fascinating 
finally.  I  'm  sure  I  can't  tell  why." 

"You  must  initiate  me  into  these  secrets,  Mr. 
Gordon." 

They  were  silent  for  a  minute,  as  Mr.  Par- 
sons's  voice  rose  once  more  in  ardent  declamation. 
He  was  "  having  a  go,"  as  he  called  it.  "  Ah,  those 
analogies  are  sometimes  very  curious.  People  have 
often  said  to  me  that  there  was  a  striking  resem 
blance  between  Shelley  and  Chopin.  I  cannot 
tell,  because  music  is  no  more  to  me  than  a  vain 
hubbub ;  but  in  art,  take  Reynolds  and  Gainsbor 
ough —  they  are  the  exact  parallel  of  Gray  and 
Collins."  Then,  in  answer  to  a  remark  of  Mr. 


116  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

Stanton's,  "  Yes,  of  course,  the  English  portrait- 
painters  have  not  the  poetry  or  the  passion  of 
Titian  or  Tintoret.  Still  they  seize  character.  Not 
even  Vandyke,  not  even  Rembrandt,  can  touch  the 
Italian  work  in  passion.  In  the  Academy  at  Venice 
hang  two  portraits,  one  by  Titian  and  one  by  Tin 
toret,  nearly  side  by  side.  I  am  never  weary  of 
comparing  them ;  one  glittering  and  glaring  with 
steely  light,  full  of  mystery,  intensity,  strange  sug 
gestion,  Shelleyan  ;  the  other,  simply  supreme  in 
quiet  human  mastery.  Velasquez  ?  Ah,  Velasquez 
—  that  was  a  man,  that.  He  is  beyond  them  all. 
Copley  ?  Don't  talk  to  me  of  Copley  —  thin,  acid, 
wiry,  like  the  generation  he  painted.  An  American 
genius  ?  You  know  what  Coleridge  said,  when  some 
one  told  him  Klopstock  was  a  German  Milton! 
'  Yes,'  said  he,  '  a  very  German  Milton.'  A  very 
American  genius.  No,  it  will  take  two  hundred 
years  to  thicken  the  thin  blood  of  New  England 
Puritanism  into  anything  like  passion,  and  passion 
is  the  first  element  of  genius  —  h'm  —  h'm  —  h'm." 

"  Do  you  know,  Miss  Stanton,"  said  Gordon  at 
length,  "  your  suggestion  about  the  ruins  confirms 
me  in  a  scheme  I  had  already  thought  of." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  If  you  really  wish  to  be  initiated  into  that  sort 
of  thing,  it  is  much  better  not  to  plunge  into  the 
Forum  and  the  Palatine  and  all  those  old  stories, 
but  to  begin  with  some  of  the  less  frequented 
places  outside  the  city.  Besides,  it  is  already  get- 


A  HINT  OF  EROS  117 

ting  late,  and  if  you  do  not  take  excursions  very 
soon,  you  must  wait  till  spring.  Now  I  had  it  in 
mind,  before  you  came,  to  propose  a  trip  to  Ha 
drian's  Villa,  which  to  me  is  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  and  most  interesting  ruins  in  the  near 
neighborhood  of  Rome.  Do  you  think  your  father 
and  mother  would  approve?" 

"  We  can  ask  them,  at  any  rate."  Then  a  curi 
ous  expression  came  into  her  eyes.  "  Would  —  a 
—  Mr.  Payne  go  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  It  was,  of  course,  chiefly  in  relation  to  him  that 
I  planned  the  expedition,"  answered  Gordon  quietly. 

"  Ah,  to  be  sure ; "  but  the  response  seemed  to 
him  just  a  trifle  frigid. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,  however,  that  I  fear  it  will 
be  impossible  to  induce  him  to  come." 

There  was  a  decided  recovery  of  cheerfulness  in 
Priscilla's  tone  as,  without  taking  any  direct  notice 
of  the  remark,  she  inquired :  "  Well,  what  is  Ha 
drian's  Villa  and  where  is  it  ?  I  suppose  I  ought 
to  know ;  but  I  don't." 

"Very  few  people  do  know,  until  they  get 
there.  It  is  on  the  road  to  Tivoli  and  it  is  simply 
the  ruin  of  a  vast  villa,  built  by  the  Emperor  Ha 
drian.  Ahem  —  further  archaeological  particulars 
will  be  best  delivered  on  the  spot.  Shall  we  ask 
your  mother?  " 

So  they  asked  her  mother,  who,  after  some  fur 
ther  inquiry,  condescended  to  approve,  as  did  Mr. 
Stanton,  expressing  at  the  same  time  a  hope  that 


118  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

Edgar  would  join  the  party ;  although  it  did  not 
seem  as  if  he,  or  any  of  them,  would  be  seriously 
depressed  by  disappointment  in  that  particular. 
It  was  arranged  that,  after  allowing  the  next  two 
days  for  resting  and  getting  settled  in  their  new 
surroundings,  they  would  go  on  the  following 
Monday,  if  the  weather  was  suitable. 

Uncle  Edwin  was,  of  course,  invited  to  accom 
pany  them,  and  consented,  with  entire  satisfac 
tion.  Ruins  and  relatives  —  what  could  be  more 
delightful?  As  for  Mr.  Parsons,  he  at  once 
invited  himself.  "  Charming  excursion  —  charm 
ing  —  charming.  What  a  solid  people  those  old 
Romans  were  :  Europe  covered  with  their  high 
ways  and  baths  and  amphitheatres,  our  mouths  full 
of  their  language,  to  this  very  day.  Fine  old  say 
ings  they  left  us.  De  mortuis  nihil  nisi  bonum. 
Fiat  justitia,  mat  coelum.  Fine  old  race !  Fine 
old  race  !  " 

But  Gordon  was  just  saying  farewell,  and  uncle 
Edwin  with  him.  So  Mr.  Parsons  interrupted  the 
obituary  of  the  ancient  Romans  to  go  along  too. 

After  they  had  departed,  a  great  silence  de 
scended  on  the  Stanton  family. 

Then  Priscilla,  pitying  her  father's  distress,  but 
really  not  knowing  what  to  say,  betook  herself  to 
bed,  and  said  nothing.  When  she  was  alone  and 
reflected  upon  the  experiences  of  the  day,  she  felt 
an  unusual  sense  of  contentment,  so  far  as  she  her 
self  was  concerned. 


A  HINT  OF   EROS  119 

In  the  parlor  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stanton  sat  side  by 
side  for  a  few  moments,  in  continued  silence. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Stanton  at  length. 

"  Well,"  echoed  her  husband,  rather  mourn 
fully. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  George  !  " 

"  George  is  so  sorry  himself.  He  is  hopeless, 
is  n't  he?" 

"  I  should  say  he  was  —  quite  hopeless." 

"  Of  course  we  have  seen  very  little  of  him  yet. 
He  is  young  too.  He  may  improve." 

Mrs.  Stanton  was  a  good  woman,  a  very  amiable 
and  lovely  woman ;  but  she  was  not  wholly  free 
from  the  hatred  which  every  wife  feels  for  the 
friends  of  her  husband's  youth,  so  that  she,  doubt 
less,  had  just  a  grain  of  satisfaction  in  replying : 
"  My  dear  George,  you  can't  be  blind  enough  to 
think  that  such  a  creature  as  that  can  ever  marry 
our  PrisciUa  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  George  slowly,  "  I  suppose  not." 

There  was  silence  again  for  a  moment.  Mr. 
Stanton  got  up  and  poked  the  fire.  "  What  shall 
I  write  to  Harrison  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  just  something  courteous,  affectionate,  and 
non-committal,  as  you  know  how  to  do  so  nicely. 
He  will  understand,  without  your  saying  anything 
definite.  The  thing  will  simply  work  itself  out  in 
time,  as  things  always  do." 

Mr.  Stanton  listened  to  his  wife's  words  of 
wisdom  and  was  somewhat  comforted  ;  but  his  pil- 


120  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

low,  though  the  softest  in  the  Hotel  Bristol,  was 
not  a  perfectly  easy  one  that  night. 

Meantime  the  three  departing  guests  pursued 
their  way  homeward.  Uncle  Edwin  separated  from 
the  others,  after  a  block  or  so ;  but  Mr.  Parsons 
was  too  much  pleased  at  finding  a  sympathetic  au 
ditor  to  let  him  go  so  easily,  and  he  accompanied 
Gordon  all  the  way  to  his  lodging.  A  curious 
spectacle  the  old  man  was,  lurching  along  the 
street,  with  his  uncertain  sailor  gait,  his  head 
thrust  forward,  one  hand  deep  in  his  overcoat 
pocket,  the  other  clutching  Gordon's  arm,  and 
now  and  then  stopping  him  short,  while  a  gray 
mustache,  thrust  close  into  his  face,  rolled  out 
fragments  of  rich  poetry,  celebrating  the  glories 
of  nature  and  the  solemn  states  of  night.  Gordon 
was  keenly  alive  to  the  ridicule  of  the  situation, 
when  a  passer-by  would  stop  and  stare  and  wonder. 
Nevertheless,  he  could  not  help  being  touched  and 
carried  away,  as  his  companion  drew  his  gaze  up 
ward  toward  the  quiet  moon,  rushing  on  in  a  cloud 
less  heaven,  and  recited  the  lovely  lines  from  "  II 
Penseroso,"  great  favorites  of  his,  scanning  the 
verses  with  a  strange  passion  of  rhythmic  intensity 
that  made  them  resound  and  vibrate,  like  a  stringed 
instrument :  — 

"  To  behold  the  wandering  moon, 
Riding  near  her  highest  noon, 
Like  one  that  had  been  led  astray 
In  the  Heaven's  wide  pathless  way. " 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  VILLA  OF  HADRIAN 

WHEN  Gordon  came  to  think  over  the  Stantons 
and  his  interview  with  them,  it  did  not  take  him 
long  to  conclude  that  Mr.  Payne's  plans  must  come 
to  nothing.  Even  if  Edgar  should  take  a  fancy  to 
Priscilla,  which  was  in  the  last  degree  improbable, 
it  was  quite  certain  that  she  would  never  take  a 
fancy  to  him.  Therefore,  any  hope  of  solving  the 
difficulties  of  the  present  situation  by  that  means 
must  be  at  once  and  entirely  abandoned.  Strange 
to  say,  Gordon  felt  rather  pleased  than  otherwise 
with  this  conclusion.  It  would  not  have  occurred 
to  him  that  he  himself  took  any  peculiar  interest 
in  Priscilla ;  but  it  was  gratifying  to  be  sure  that 
anything  so  graceful  and  charming  could  not  by 
any  possible  chance  fall  into  the  hands  of  his  hope 
ful  pupil. 

Meantime  the  difficulties  of  the  present  situa 
tion  remained ;  or  rather,  they  were  undoubtedly 
much  aggravated.  Not  only  was  it  necessary  to 
keep  Edgar  out  of  the  clutches  of  the  Countess, 
but  it  was  equally  important  to  induce  him  to  pay 
such  attention  to  the  Stantons  as  would  at  least 
satisfy  his  father  that  everything  had  been  done  to 


122  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

bring  about  the  desired  result.  Now  Gordon  con 
sidered  the  first  of  these  undertakings  to  be  diffi 
cult,  the  second  to  be  quite  impossible.  He  had  a 
hope  that  by  persuasion  and  advice  and  warning  he 
might  be  able  to  cool  his  young  friend's  ardor  for 
succeeding  the  late  Count  Markovski,  though  even 
as  to  that,  he  was  a  good  deal  in  doubt ;  but  that 
Edgar  could  ever  be  brought  to  be  devoted  or  even 
civil  to  Priscilla,  if  he  had  once  made  up  his  mind 
that  she  bored  him,  was  altogether  vain  to  expect. 
What  was  to  be  done  ?  Perhaps  nothing  immedi 
ately.  Meanwhile  Gordon  himself  woidd  see  to  it 
that  Priscilla  did  not  lack  attention.  That  part,  at 
least,  of  his  tutorial  duties  should  not  be  neglected. 

"  Well,"  he  said  to  Edgar  the  next  morning, 
"how  did  you  enjoy  your  call?  " 

"  Damned  dull !  "  was  the  rough  answer. 

"I  didn't  find  it  so." 

"  You  like  to  do  the  swell  to  any  woman,  I 
believe." 

"  I  consider  Miss  Stanton  a  very  charming  girl, 
don't  you  ?  But  then  you  did  n't  see  much  of  her." 

"  Saw  enough.  I  prefer  something  warmer. 
Never  had  any  use  for  the  liquid  air  trust,  you 
know." 

Gordon  puffed  at  his  cigarette  for  a  few  minutes 
in  silence.  Edgar  was  enjoying  himself  with  an  old 
pipe  and  the  unfailing  newspaper. 

"  By  the  way,"  began  the  tutor  again,  "  we  Ve 
arranged  a  picnic  at  Hadrian's  Villa  for  next  Mon- 


THE   VILLA   OF   HADRIAN  123 

day."  No  reply.  "  Did  n't  you  hear  my  re 
mark?" 

"  I  hear.    What  do  you  want  me  to  say  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  '11  go  with  us  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  won't." 

"  Now  look  here,  Edgar,"  remonstrated  Gordon, 
as  pleasantly  and  affectionately  as  possible,  "  you 
know  what  your  father's  wishes  are  in  this  matter. 
I  don't  expect,  and  he  would  n't  expect,  that  you 
should  keep  on  devoting  yourself  to  Miss  Stanton, 
if  you  don't  like  her.  But  Mr.  Stanton  is  one  of 
your  father's  oldest  and  best  friends.  I  think  you 
ought  at  least  to  show  them  a  civil  amount  of 
attention  and  courtesy." 

Edgar  answered,  without  lowering  his  paper  or 
taking  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth:  "Is  that  all 
you  Ve  got  to  say  ?  Well,  you  can  drop  it  right 
there.  You  've  earned  your  money.  I  '11  fix  mat 
ters  with  my  father  myself.  All  you  've  got  to  do, 
from  now  on,  is  just  to  mind  your  own  business. 
See?" 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  said  Gordon  shortly.  He  got  up 
and  left  the  room.  Things  were  getting  pretty 
bad.  Edgar  had  always  been  bearish  and  insolent ; 
but  since  they  had  come  to  Rome  he  had  got  a 
peculiar  tone  of  defiance,  which  was  almost  unen 
durable.  Something  must  be  done  before  long  — 
though  Gordon  could  not  imagine  what.  Meantime 
it  was  quite  evident  that  the  young  man  would  not 
take  part  in  the  Hadrian's  Villa  excursion.  Well, 


124  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

they  would  certainly  all  enjoy  themselves  much 
better  for  his  absence. 

During  the  next  two  days  Gordon  was  frequently 
at  the  Stantons',  for  necessary  arrangements  of  one 
sort  or  another.  Edgar  never  accompanied  him ; 
but  this  seemed  to  make  no  difference  in  the  warmth 
of  his  welcome.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Mrs.  Stanton 
had  early  made  inquiries  of  uncle  Edwin  about 
the  tutor's  history ;  and  when  she  found  that  he 
was  connected  with  the  very  best  Boston  families, 
including  the  Stantons  themselves  distantly,  and 
that  in  every  point,  except  the  very  important  one 
of  riches,  he  was  a  gentleman,  her  maternal  heart 
was  set  at  rest.  She  encouraged  his  visits  and  did 
nothing  whatever  to  chill  Priscilla's  evident  fancy 
for  him.  Anything  was  better  than  the  extraor 
dinary  monster  who  had  made  his  way  into  her 
drawing-room  under  the  shelter  of  hereditary  friend 
ship.  Even  Mr.  Stanton,  although  he  felt  frequent 
yearnings  after  his  old  friend's  son,  and  urged  Gor 
don  to  make  every  effort  to  bring  Edgar  with 
him,  was  secretly  not  dissatisfied  to  see  the  sunny, 
kindly  face,  without  the  sour  and  withered  one. 

On  Saturday  the  Stantons  took  a  long,  general 
drive  in  the  comfortable  carriage  which  Joseph,  the 
courier,  had  hired  for  them.  Sunday  they  went  deco 
rously  to  church.  Monday  and  Tuesday  were  very 
rainy,  so  that  the  excursion  had  to  be  'postponed. 
Priscilla  and  her  mother  spent  the  mornings  in  the 
Capitoline  Museum,  the  former  having  a  desire  to  do 


THE   VILLA   OF   HADRIAN  125 

everything  thoroughly  and  systematically.  She  sug 
gested  that  Gordon  should  accompany  them  ;  but  he 
thought  it  best  not  to  overdo  the  thing,  and  pleaded 
pressing  engagements  —  a  French  novel  and  a  pipe. 

Wednesday  morning  was  all  that  could  possibly 
be  desired,  absolutely  clear,  and,  after  the  chill  of 
dawn  had  vanished,  rich  with  the  mellow  warmth 
of  Indian  Summer.  They  started  early;  for  the 
trip  to  Hadrian's  Villa  demands  a  whole  day,  and 
a  long  one  at  that.  At  half-past  eight  the  three 
Stantons  and  uncle  Edwin  were  driving  rapidly 
toward  the  Porta  San  Lorenzo,  where  Gordon  and 
Parsons  had  agreed  to  meet  them.  From  the  gate 
you  take  the  steam  tram  for  Tivoli.  The  journey 
presents  nothing  of  especial  interest,  except  the 
vast,  barren  Campagna  itself,  with  its  rolling 
sweep  of  little  hills  and  valleys,  varied  here  and 
there  by  the  remains  of  an  aqueduct  or  a  solitary 
tower,  and  in  the  distance,  the  huge,  bare  Sabine 
Mountains,  their  gray  tops,  at  that  season,  just 
beginning  to  be  touched  with  snow. 

There  was  not  much  conversation  at  first.  A 
picnic,  especially  when  it  involves  an  early  start, 
is  like  a  dinner  party.  You  sit  down  in  formal 
fashion.  You  are  hurried  and  heated  with  the  effort 
of  getting  there.  You  put  too  much  lemon  on 
your  oysters.  Soup  is  always  incompatible  with 
conversation.  You  have  never  met  your  neighbor 
and  cannot  imagine  how  you  are  going  to  talk  to 
her  for  two  hours.  You  wish  she  were  at  home  and 


126  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

yourself  also.  With  the  first  glass  of  wine,  things 
begin  to  brighten  a  little.  You  discover  that  your 
neighbor's  grandmother  married  your  aunt's  first 
cousin ;  so  it  is  a  family  dinner,  after  all  —  not  too 
family.  Then  there  is  another  glass  of  wine,  and 
another,  and  when  the  last  almond  is  eaten,  you 
wish  it  were  all  to  begin  again.  Thus  it  is  with 
picnics.  Thus  it  was  with  this  picnic.  During 
the  tramway  ride,  numerous  yawns  were  strangled 
civilly.  Some  enthusiasm  about  the  weather  and 
the  sky  and  the  mountains  was  attempted;  but 
there  was  nothing  hearty  in  it,  and  the  seniors 
evidently  wished  they  had  not  left  their  beds. 
Even  Mr.  Parsons's  voice  was  hushed ;  and  after 
once  offering  his  favorite  quotation  from  Emerson 
about  health  and  a  day,  he  ventured  nothing  more 
until  they  descended  at  the  little  station,  a  few 
miles  this  side  of  Tivoli. 

Then  they  got  their  first  glass  of  wine,  with  the 
touch  of  that  fresh,  crisp,  country  air,  in  the  au 
tumnal  morning ;  and  they  all  were  stirred  by  it. 
Uncle  Edwin  and  Mr.  Parsons  began  to  pass 
their  simple  jests.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stanton's  natural 
mirth  and  kindliness  gradually  showed  themselves. 
As  for  Priscilla,  her  young  nerves  felt  the  intoxica 
tion  sooner  than  any  of  them ;  and  quiet  as  she 
always  was,  the  bright  eye,  the  quick  step,  the 
ready  smile,  made  it  very  evident  that  the  spell  of 
a  day  of  enchantment  was  upon  her. 

It  is  perhaps  needless  to  recall  to  any  experi- 


THE   VILLA   OF   HADRIAN  127 

enced  traveler  —  and  every  one  is  an  experienced 
traveler  nowadays  —  that  when  you  first  enter  the 
inclosure  of  Hadrian's  Villa,  you  come  at  once  to 
the  remains  of  a  small  Greek  theatre,  not  espe 
cially  well  preserved.  From  there,  you  pass  through 
a  long  avenue  of  stately  cypress  trees,  in  the  middle 
of  an  olive  grove,  up  a  rather  steep  incline,  to  the 
most  striking  of  all  ruins,  the  vast  wall  of  the 
Poecile.  As  compared  with  similar  sight-seeing  in 
the  city  itself,  the  peculiar  charm  of  the  Villa  is, 
undoubtedly,  its  solitude.  The  great  mob  of  the 
personally  conducted  do  not  frequent  it ;  and  the 
few  more  determined  tourists  who  do  arrive  there 
are  lost  in  its  vastness.  You  may  wander  for  hours 
and  hardly  see  a  Baedeker.  And  not  only  do  you 
escape  those  of  your  own  peculiar  vocation,  —  you 
may  do  that  to  some  extent,  even  on  the  Palatine, 
—  but  here  there  is  no  tumult  of  humanity  in  gen 
eral,  no  buzz  and  hum  and  whirr  of  city  streets,  no 
rattle  of  trolley  cars,  no  harsh  shriek  of  Italian 
voices,  nothing  but  the  wide  quietude  of  nature  and 
the  gentle  music  of  natural  sounds. 

This  fact  seemed  to  be  especially  borne  in  upon 
our  friends,  as  they  passed  under  the  cypresses  ; 
and  Mr.  Parsons  remarked  it. 

"  What  is  most  striking  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Stan- 
ton,  "  a  poor  native  of  the  frigid  zone,  is  the  won 
derful  luxuriance  of  natural  life,  at  this  season.  It 
is  the  end  of  November.  The  frost  has  eaten  every 
thing  at  home.  There  may  be  a  foot  of  snow  on 


128  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

the  ground.  Here  the  flowers  are  in  bloom  and 
the  birds  singing." 

"  Ah,  that  is  what  gives  this  world  of  ruin  half 
its  charm,"  Mr.  Parsons  replied,  "  the  wonderful 
mixture  of  death  with  all  this  semi-tropical  fullness 
of  life.  Not  but  that  there  would  be  a  charm  also  in 
the  opposite  ;  and  I  think  this  Villa  would  be  quite 
as  fascinating  on  a  bleak  hill  in  New  England, 
with  no  spot  of  green  anywhere,  and  wild  snow- 
blasts  sweeping  over  it ;  but  as  it  is,  the  charm 
of  contrasts  is  inexhaustible  —  inexhaustible.  See 
those  heavy  clusters  of  ivy  trailing  over  that  old 
wall  —  and  the  maiden-hair  ferns  cowering  in  the 
crevice,  and  the  blossoms  up  there,  pink  and  white, 
nodding,  nodding  in  the  breeze,  on  that  broken 
capital,  with  its  lonely  shaft  soaring  into  high  hea 
ven  —  delicious  —  delicious  —  h'm  —  h'm  —  h'm." 

Gordon  and  Priscilla  had  gone  on  ahead  during 
this  harangue ;  but  Mr.  Parsons  delivered  it  to 
the  other  members  of  the  party,  stopping  now  one 
and  now  another,  to  point  out  little  delightful  bits 
of  ruin  and  of  landscape.  Then,  in  a  few  minutes, 
they  were  all  reunited  on  the  platform,  which  re 
mains  at  the  foot  of  the  vast  northern  wall  of  the 
Poecile.  Out  before  them  spread  a  great  breadth 
of  sun-swept,  wind-swept  field,  dotted  with  here 
and  there  a  shaft,  or  mouldering  capital,  or  crum 
bling  wall;  and  on  the  slopes  falling  away  be 
yond,  were  more  fragments,  more  capitals,  more 
walls,  more  green  and  wind  and  sunlight,  to  almost 


THE   VILLA   OF   HADRIAN  129 

interminable  distance  ;  while  over  all  was  silence, 
except  for  the  rustle  of  the  olive  leaves,  and  the 
hum  of  the  insects,  and  now  and  then  a  bird,  cut 
ting  the  quiet  with  sharp,  shrill  melody. 

For  a  few  moments  no  one  spoke.  Then  uncle 
Edwin,  sweetest  and  wisest  of  guides,  infinitely 
modest  with  his  unpretentious  learning,  said  a  word 
or  two  as  to  the  structure  by  which  they  stood : 
"  It  was  the  north  wall  of  the  great  Poecile,  a  re 
production  of  the  Portico  at  Athens,  where  the  old 
philosophers  used  to  walk  and  talk  with  their  dis 
ciples.  I  suppose  Hadrian  loved  to  walk  here,  of  a 
sunny  morning,  and  hear  from  his  Greek  flatterers 
such  philosophy  as  may  ever  come  to  an  emperor's 
ears." 

"  But  why  did  he  try  to  imitate  a  building  at 
Athens  ?  "  asked  Priscilla. 

"  The  whole  Villa  was  a  mass  of  imitations  of  a 
similar  nature.  Hadrian,  in  his  earlier  days,  had 
been  a  great  traveler,  visiting  the  furthest  corners 
of  his  dominions.  It  seems  that  when  he  got  old 
and  unable  to  go  to  strange  and  curious  places,  he 
brought  them  to  him,  by  building  this  Villa,  with 
more  or  less  exact  reproductions  of  the  various 
wonders  he  had  seen  in  his  journeyings." 

"A  beautiful  idea,"  said  Mr.  Parsons,  "and 
magnificently  Roman  ;  but  I  do  not  believe  that, 
in  all  the  original  glory  of  white  marble  and  gold 
and  purple,  there  was  anything  finer  here  than  this 
broad  sweep  of  quiet  sunlight.  — 


130  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

'  The  humblest  floweret  of  the  vale, 
The  simplest  note  that  swells  the  gale, 
The  common  sun,  the  air,  the  skies 
To  him  were  opening  paradise.' 

'  The  common  sun  '  —  common  to  emperors  and 
poets  and  peasants  —  and  even  to  tourists  —  the 
poor  creatures." 

Following  the  huge  wall  of  the  Poecile  to  the 
eastward,  our  friends  wandered  into  the  labyrinth 
of  ruin  which  spreads  so  thickly  toward  the  beau 
tiful  valley  of  Tempe.  They  paused  a  few  moments 
in  the  curious  and  shapely  swimming-bath,  with  its 
marble  basin,  its  little  island  in  the  centre,  once 
the  resting  place  of  some  marvelous  statue,  its 
niches  carefully  disposed  for  indolent  luxury  and 
ease.  As  they  loitered  there,  Gordon,  striking  an 
attitude,  regaled  them  with  a  burlesque  of  such 
pabulum  as  is  humbly  swallowed  by  the  personally 
conducted  :  "  This,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  was  once 
the  private  bath-house  of  the  great  Emperor  Ha 
drian.  That  is,  unless  it  was  something  else,  which 
in  these  cases  is  always  more  likely.  You  will  ob 
serve  that  it  is  very  large.  The  bathing  arrange 
ments  of  the  ancient  Romans  were  large.  This 
would  make  it  seem  as  if  they  stood  almost  as 
much  in  need  of  such  apparatus  as  their  descend 
ants,  though  the  latter  have  not  as  yet  hit  upon 
the  happy  thought  of  resorting  to  them.  I  need 
not  tell  you,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  who  the  great 
Emperor  Hadrian  was.  It  would  occupy  too  much 


THE   VILLA   OF   HADRIAN  131 

time ;  and  besides,  I  have  no  doubt  you  all  know 
more  about  it  than  I  do.  At  any  rate,  he  built  this 
establishment,  not  himself,  but  by  the  sweat  of  the 
toiling  minions  of  his  oriental  despotism.  There  is 
no  spot  more  suitable  for  us  to  reflect  on  the  great 
superiority  of  the  United  States,  where  the  people 
are  free  and  are  not  compelled  to  build  villas  for 
the  benefit  of  a  capricious  tyrant.  Besides,  for  my 
own  part,  I  had  rather  have  a  two-story  wooden 
house  in  Chelsea  with  open  plumbing  and  all  the 
modern  conveniences,  than  a  dozen  villas  with  no 
thing  but  white  marble  furniture.  Pass  to  the  next, 
ladies  and  gentlemen." 

They  passed  to  the  next,  and  to  the  next, 
through  room  after  room,  to  which  names  have 
been  assigned,  with  more  or  less  likelihood  of  cor 
rectness,  by  archaeological  ingenuity:  libraries, 
sleeping  apartments,  halls  of  reception  and  audi 
ence,  all  full  of  bustle,  hurry,  and  laughter  once, 
all  dead,  forlorn,  and  silent  now ;  yet  only  forlorn 
in  their  association ;  for  the  rich,  ardent  life  of 
nature  was  upon  them  everywhere,  warm  with  the 
glow  of  the  heavy  autumn  sunlight. 

Finally,  they  issued  forth  on  the  magnificent 
terrace,  which  looks  towards  the  northeast,  over 
the  vale  of  Tempe  and  its  olive  groves,  to  the 
mountains  of  Tivoli.  There  they  were  well  satis 
fied  to  sit  down  for  their  noon  rest ;  while  Joseph, 
the  courier,  and  two  satellites,  under  his  direction, 
served  them  with  luncheon. 


CHAPTER  XII 
LOVE  IN  RUINS 

OYSTERS,  sardines,  olives,  salads,  and  cold  meats, 
biscuits  of  all  kinds,  jellies,  wafers,  and  cakes,  wines 
of  Italy,  and  champagne  —  all  the  superfluities 
which  convert  the  lowly  picnic  of  the  humble  into 
the  fete  cJiampetre  of  the  rich  —  were  eaten  with 
measureless  content.  The  banquet  of  the  palate, 
however,  seemed  poor  and  mean  compared  to  that 
of  the  eye.  Impossible  to  imagine  anything  more 
peaceful,  more  restful  than  the  valley  at  their  feet, 
its  carpet  of  olives  glittering  and  shimmering  in  the 
sunlight,  the  foliage  quiet  in  the  bright  and  wind 
less  air ;  while  beyond,  the  spurs  of  the  Apennine 
swept  downward,  the  glowing  reds  and  browns  of 
oak  and  chestnut  mingling  irregularly  with  the 
sombre  darkness  of  the  pines.  Here  and  there  a 
white  villa  nestled  in  some  little  niche  or  corner. 
The  day  continued  wonderfully  fair,  only  now  and 
then  a  soft  cloud  floating  through  the  blue  heaven 
and  trailing  its  lazy  shadow  over  the  shoulders  of 
the  mountains. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  picnics  ?  "  said  uncle 
Edwin,  who  amused  himself  by  waiting  on  the 
ladies,  with  a  napkin  over  his  arm,  much  to  the  hor- 


LOVE   IN   RUINS  133 

ror  of  the  sedate  and  unhumorous  French  Joseph. 
Indeed,  a  little  horror  was  not  unnatural,  as  the  old 
gentleman  stumbled  along  on  the  edge  of  the  preci 
pice,  with  unspeakable  peril  to  a  plate  of  salad  held 
in  one  hand  and  a  glass  of  champagne  in  the  other, 
to  say  nothing  of  his  own  neck.  "  What  do  you 
know  about  picnics  ?  "  he  cried.  "  Ah,  it  was  dif 
ferent  in  the  consulship  of  James  Buchanan  —  woe 
be  unto  him  —  when  I  was  young  !  " 

"It  could  not  have  been  nicer,  uncle  Edwin," 
said  Priscilla,  thanking  him  for  his  courtesy  with  a 
pretty  gesture. 

"  It  was,  though !  when,  of  an  autumn  day  like 
this,  Mr.  Emerson  or  Henry  Thoreau  would  take 
me  with  them  on  the  Concord  River.  We  would 
row  up  to  Fairhaven  Bay  in  the  bright,  cool  morn 
ing,  and  then  rest  there  and  swim  and  have  our 
luncheon  of  hard-boiled  eggs,  milk,  doughnuts,  and 
a  piece  of  apple  pie." 

Priscilla  lifted  her  hands  in  comic  horror.  "  Yes, 
you  may  laugh,  Miss  Priscilla,  all  you  like ;  but 
the  Concord  River  and  a  doughnut  and  a  piece  of 
apple  pie  are  not  to  be  despised." 

"  And  Mr.  Emerson  and  Henry  Thoreau,"  added 
the  young  lady  thoughtfully. 

"  Well,  I  did  n't  mean  to  find  any  fault  with  my 
company  here,  which  is  very  agreeable,  but "  — 

"  But  we  are  neither  poets  nor  philosophers. 
It  is  too  true.  That  is  why  we  bring  the  cham 
pagne." 


134  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

The  old  man  shook  his  head. 

"  Then,  you  had  no  ruins  there." 

"  That  is  true  enough.  No  ruins,  no  shadow  of 
the  might  of  old  Rome,  no  memories  of  the  past. 
But  we  had  the  fields  and  pastures  and  sky  of  New 
England,  which  are  as  good  as  anything  here.  And 
we  had  the  future,  with  Emerson's  prophetic  insight 
to  light  it  up  for  us.  Even  for  ruins,  Thoreau 
would  take  you  to  an  Indian  mound  and  find  you 
arrow-heads  by  the  dozen,  which  may  have  been 
older  than  anything  of  Hadrian's,  for  aught  I 
know." 

So  they  chatted  through  the  luncheon  hour,  the 
wine  adding  a  trifle  of  gayety  to  their  serene  hap 
piness,  and  banishing  any  little  trace  of  fatigue  that 
might  have  remained  from  the  morning's  work. 
When  they  had  finished,  the  elders  of  the  party  dis 
posed  themselves  for  comfortable  digestion  in  quiet, 
which,  with  two  or  three  of  them,  at  least,  went  so 
far  as  deep  and  conspicuous  slumber.  Gordon  and 
Priscilla,  having  the  blessed  privilege  of  youth, 
which  one  does  not  fully  appreciate  till  one  has 
lost  it,  felt  no  particular  inclination  to  sleep. 
Therefore  they  strolled  a  little  further  along  the 
great  terrace  and  sat  down  for  a  tranquil  conver 
sation.  Priscilla  placed  herself  on  the  base  of  a 
column,  which  had  probably  been  dragged  away  to 
decorate  some  two-penny  church  in  Rome ;  and 
Gordon,  sitting  at  her  feet,  leaned  back  and  puffed 
his  cigar  most  comfortably. 


LOVE  IN  RUINS  135 

At  first  they  remained  silent  for  a  few  moments, 
enjoying  the  deep,  immense  silence  all  about  them. 
Nothing  disturbed  it  but  the  distant  rural  sounds 
which  only  emphasize  the  beauty  of  such  tran 
quillity.  A  bird,  hidden  in  a  bush  near  by,  occa 
sionally  dotted  the  stillness  with  a  clear,  soft  note. 
Far  away,  over  beyond  the  valley  of  Tempe,  two 
white  oxen  were  dragging  a  clumsy  wagon  along  a 
road  which  wound  in  and  out  among  the  olive- 
trees.  The  groaning  and  creaking  of  the  axle  came 
faintly  to  their  ears. 

"  I  wish  I  could  smoke,"  said  Priscilla.  "  Then 
I  suppose  I  should  n't  feel  obliged  to  talk." 

"  Which  means  that  I  ought  to  begin  the  con 
versation.  But  why  need  there  be  any  conversation 
at  all,  if  we  don't  feel  like  it  ?  " 

«  Why  indeed  ?  " 

"  You  might  smoke,  you  know,"  Gordon  con 
tinued,  after  another  moment's  silence. 

"  Yes,  I  might.    Would  you  wish  me  to  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Well  then  ?  " 

"  Why  should  you  be  dependent  on  what  I  wish  ? 
Women  certainly  do  not  wish  men  to  smoke ;  yet 
most  men  do  it." 

"  Why  do  women  let  men  tyrannize  over  them 
in  everything  ?  " 

"That  is  a  large  question.  If  I  were  you,  I 
should  start  a  rebellion." 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  don't  want  to  start  any- 


136  THE  PRIVATE   TUTOR 

thing.  I  have  a  perfect  horror  of  women  who 
start  things." 

"  That  is  charming  —  in  the  nineteenth  century. 
But  surely  you  belong  to  a  number  of  clubs?  " 

"  To  a  few,  I  am  sorry  to  say.    I  wish  I  did  n't." 

"  I  thought  so.  And  you  attend  lectures  on 
cooking  and  on  the  nature  of  the  soul  ?  " 

"  I  have." 

"  I  thought  so.  And  you  have  a  secret  aspira 
tion  to  convert  somebody  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Or  to  reform  something  ?  " 

"No." 

"  But  you  have  a  mission  of  some  kind  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  no  !    No  mission  whatever." 

"  I  repeat  what  I  said  the  other  day :  you  are  a 
very  extraordinary  young  woman.  But  at  least,  I 
am  sure  you  have  a  mysterious  ideal  ?  " 

"  If  I  have,  I  keep  it  to  myself."  As  she  spoke, 
she  looked  down  at  him  and  smiled,  and  her  smile 
had  a  peculiar  warmth  and  comfort  in  it.  Its  rich 
and  quiet  sweetness  seemed  to  tone  in  with  the 
splendor  of  the  autumn  day,  and  he  felt  as  if  he 
should  be  glad  to  bask  for  a  lifetime  in  both  the 
one  and  the  other. 

Again  they  sat  quiet  for  a  few  minutes,  delighted 
with  the  pure  luxury  of  their  surroundings.  Then 
Priscilla  spoke  slowly  and  a  little  absently :  "  You 
have  been  catechising  me  pretty  thoroughly.  How 
if  I  catechise  you  ?  " 


LOVE   IN   RUINS  137 

"  By  all  means.  I  should  like  nothing  so  much. 
Perhaps  it  will  help  me  to  understand  myself  a 
little  better.  I  find  myself  very  puzzling." 

"  More  puzzling  than  other  people  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  not,  but  a  great  deal  more  interesting, 
you  know.  Well,  what  do  you  want  to  ask?  " 

She  paused  for  a  minute  or  two,  evidently  find 
ing  some  difficulty  in  framing  her  questions.  At 
length  she  began,  point-blank :  "  What  is  your 
occupation  in  life,  Mr.  Gordon  ?  " 

Gordon  looked  up  at  her  sharply.  "  I  am  a  pri 
vate  tutor  —  worse  luck  —  responsible  for  the 
mind,  morals,  and  finances  of  a  hopeful  young 
friend  of  yours." 

She  waved  her  hand  with  some  impatience. 
"  Nonsense  !  That 's  not  an  occupation." 

"  Oh,  is  n't  it  ?  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  try 
it  and  see.  I  should  be  charmed  to  have  you." 

"  Thank  you,  so  much.  Still,  you  have  n't  been 
doing  that  all  your  life." 

"  No,  I  have  n't.  And  don't  mean  to  all  my  life. 
I  see.  You  want  my  autobiography.  You  shall 
have  the  copyrighted  edition  —  gilt  edges  —  half- 
calf.  Chapter  I.  —  From  the  cradle  to  the  veloci 
pede.  Chapter  II.  —  An  idle  boy.  Chapter  III. 
—  In  love  and  out  again.  Chapter  IV.  —  Harvard 
College.  Chapter  V.  —  Artist  manque.  Chapter 
VI.  —  Private  tutor  —  manque  also.  Epitome, 
epilogue,  epigram,  epitaph:  He  did  nothing  and 
was  happy." 


138  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

"  Have  you  always  been  happy  ?  " 

"Why,  yes,  until  I  got  this  last  job  on  my 
hands.  Even  now  it  is  very  difficult  for  me  to  be 
otherwise  —  though  I  know  it  is  highly  improper. 
You  see,  I  have  perfect  health,  and  as  our  friend 
over  there  says,  '  Give  me  health  and  a  day '  — 
I  will  spare  you  the  rest.  I  have  no  money,  so 
nobody  hates  me  ;  yet  I  always  seem  to  have  every 
thing  I  want.  Then  I  love  to  watch,  watch,  watch, 
—  there  is  so  much  to  see  in  the  world.  People  are 
so  irresistibly  amusing.  Life  is  just  like  a  theatre 
to  me  all  the  time." 

"  But  there  are  tragedies  in  it." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  Still,  after  all,  they  are  not  my 
tragedies.  And  then,  they  are  over  so  quickly. 
And  then,  people  might  almost  always  help  them, 
if  they  wanted  to.  And  then,  there  is  so  much 
comedy  right  beside  them.  One  can  always  shut 
one's  eyes,  you  know." 

"  Can  one  —  always  ?  "  Priscilla  leaned  her 
head  on  her  hand  thoughtfully.  A  cloud  somewhat 
heavier  than  most  veiled  the  sun.  The  bird  in  the 
bush  stopped  singing.  Then  the  sun  burst  out 
again  and  the  bird  began  once  more.  "  You  say 
you  have  been  an  artist  ?  "  Priscilla  went  on. 

"  No.    I  said  I  had  tried  to  be." 

"  But  if  you  tried  to  be  and  failed,  which  I 
don't  believe,  did  n't  that  make  you  unhappy  ?  " 

"  No,  that 's  the  worst  of  it.  If  it  had  made 
me  so,  I  suppose  I  might  have  succeeded.  I  have 


LOVE  IN   RUINS  139 

known  so  many  men  positively  wretched  at  seeing 
others  succeed,  when  they  could  not.  I  can  enjoy 
other  people's  successes,  even  when  I  fail.  An  un 
fortunate  disposition,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  That  depends  upon  the  point  of  view."  But 
there  was  just  the  hint  of  a  quiet  smile  about  her 
mouth,  though  Gordon  did  not  see  it,  which  sug 
gested  that  she  did  not  have  much  fault  to  find. 
"  But  you  will  go  back  to  painting,"  she  continued, 
"  when  you  " 

"  When  I  have  completed  my  present  failure  ? 
It  is  possible  enough.  If  one  is  bound  to  fail,  it  is 
more  agreeable  to  fail  in  doing  something  attrac 
tive." 

"  And  when  shall  you  complete  your  present  fail 
ure,  as  you  call  it  ?  " 

"  Ah,  that  is  an  unkind  question  to  ask  me," 
Gordon  said,  with  sudden  energy,  "  when  you  know 
it  might  all  have  been  settled  by  yourself."  In  spite 
of  her  decided  gesture  of  disagreement,  he  went  on: 
"  Oh,  yes,  it  might.  You  know  it  just  as  well  as  I 
do.  Here  have  I  brought  this  amiable  young  man 
three  thousand  miles  over  sea  and  land,  just  for 
the  sole  purpose  of  marrying  him  to  you  —  and 
now  you  won't  take  up  with  the  project  in  any  way 
whatever." 

"  But,  Mr.  Gordon,  really,  why  lay  it  all  to  me  ? 
It  appears  that  the  young  man  is  not  very  ardent 
in  his  suit,  to  say  the  least." 

"  Would  you  marry  him,  if  he  asked  you  ?  " 


140  THE  PRIVATE   TUTOR 

"  That  is  a  direct  question,  certainly.  Do  you 
think  a  young  lady  ought  to  answer  such  a  one 
unless  it  is  asked  seriously  ?  However,  I  think  I 
may  safely  say  no,  without  any  hesitation  at  all." 

"  Well,  then.  And  if  he  is  n't  ardent  in  his  suit, 
isn't  it  all  your  fault?" 

"  That  is  not  a  very  polite  way  of  putting  it,  per 
haps." 

"  Well,  but  is  n't  it  all  your  fault  ?  I  say  it  is. 
Why  could  n't  you  have  been  different,  as  a  young 
woman  from  Chicago,  or  anywhere  else,  might  be, 
— loud,  you  know, rings,  bangles,  and  slang;  horsey, 
doggy,  golfy,  sporty,  —  I  say,  why  could  n't  you  ?  " 

"  I  'm  sorry  to  disappoint  you." 

"You  have  disappointed  me  woefully.  What 
am  I  to  say  to  the  young  man's  papa  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  but  from  what  I  remember  of 
Mr.  Payne  —  I  have  n't  seen  him  for  several  years, 
—  and  from  what  I  hear  of  him,  he  must  be  quite 
different  from  his  son." 

"  He  is  different.  If  it  were  he,  he  would  have 
fallen  in  love  with  you  before  this  and  you  with 
him.  Do  you  think  that  will  make  him  any  more 
inclined  to  be  lenient  toward  me  ?  " 

They  were  both  silent  for  a  moment,  neither 
of  them  appearing  to  be  much  cast  down  by  the 
situation.  The  flattery  hidden  in  Gordon's  mock 
reproaches  was  very  sweet  to  Priscilla  and  she  did 
not  in  the  least  regret  having  failed  to  make  her 
self  agreeable  to  her  intended  suitor. 


LOVE   IN   RUINS  141 

The  other  members  of  the  party  were  moving 
now,  having  had  all  necessary  repose.  They  had 
gathered  themselves  together  and  were  slowly  ap 
proaching  Priscilla  and  her  companion. 

"  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  explain  that  I  was  not 
finding  any  fault  with  you,"  said  Gordon  softly. 

"  Were  n't  you  now  ?    After  all  ?  " 

"  You  are  simply  one  of  those  unconscious  in 
struments  of  the  evil  designs  of  Fate  —  like  Helen 
of  Troy,  you  know.  Of  course,  you  could  n't  help 
being  charming  and  amiable  and  attractive." 

"  Oh,  no,  of  course  not.  I  have  tried."  Here  the 
others  were  upon  them  and  the  peregrination 
through  the  Villa  began  again. 

It  was  now  long  after  noon  and  time  served 
but  scantily  for  exploring  the  vast  ruins,  of  which 
they  had  as  yet  visited  hardly  more  than  a  corner. 
They  passed  through  room  after  room,  bare,  blank, 
deserted,  silent ;  palace  halls,  courts  of  justice,  little 
cells,  where  senators  and  generals  had  been  crowded 
together,  like  the  French  nobility  in  the  cramped 
corners  of  Versailles,  baths,  libraries,  open  gardens 
and  porticoes  —  everywhere  the  same  tranquillity, 
broken  only  by  some  petty  group  of  tourists,  or  the 
faint,  tender  sounds  of  nature  ;  and  as  they  walked, 
an  immense  weariness  came  upon  them,  partly  phy 
sical,  partly  resulting  from  the  ever-present  weight 
of  years  and  the  intolerable  tyranny  of  death. 

Then  they  came  out  into  the  vaguer  and  more 
open  portion  of  the  Villa  to  the  south,  where  the 


142  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

ruins  were  still  more  ruinous,  more  overgrown  with 
grass  and  shrubs,  almost  unrecognizable ;  and  where 
the  descending  sun,  shining  still  with  mellow  and 
glorious  radiance,  changed  their  sharper  melancholy 
to  mild  and  gentle  contemplation. 

As  they  strayed  through  the  vast  length  of  the 
Canopus,  uncle  Edwin  said  something  about  the 
meaning  of  the  word ;  that  Hadrian,  in  building  it, 
had  tried  to  reproduce  the  delicious  water  gardens 
of  the  Nile,  where,  from  morning  till  night,  revelers 
floated  up  and  down  in  the  idle  tide  of  pleasure, 
crowning  their  boats  with  gay  garlands,  wafted  by 
purple  sails,  singing  merry  songs,  fluting,  dancing, 
living  carelessly,  as  they  did  in  the  golden  world. 

"  But  could  he  reproduce  it  ?  "  asked  Priscilla. 
"  He  could  have  the  gay  garlands  and  the  flutes 
and  the  purple  sails ;  but  could  he,  with  all  his 
wealth  and  all  his  empire,  fleet  the  time  carelessly, 
or  rather,  in  spite  of  all  his  empire  and  his  wealth  ?  " 

"Ah,  as  to  that  history  saith  not,"  answered 
uncle  Edwin. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  he  could,  I  know  I 
conld,"  added  Gordon,  a  little  dreamily. 

"  Well,  yes,  I  believe  you  could,  Mr.  Gordon," 
said  Priscilla. 

"Is  that  a  compliment  ?  " 

"  A  very,  very  great  compliment."  It  was  quite 
clear  that  she  spoke  seriously. 

But  Mr.  Parsons  was  regaling  Mrs.  Stanton 
with  bits  of  Shelley :  "  Yes,  he  was  the  poet  of 


L'OVE   IN   RUINS  143 

solitude.  Ruin,  desolation,  with  just  a  gleam  of 
spiritual  hope — that  was  his  element. 

'  I  love  all  waste  and  solitary  places.' 

He  wrote  the  "  Prometheus  Unbound  "  in  the  Baths 
of  Caracalla,  which  were  ruins  then,  such  as  these 
are  now,  vines  and  ivy  trailing  around  him,  and 
the  old  walls  towering  raggedly  against  the  blue 
sky  above.  Do  you  remember  that  wonderful 
stanza  in  which  he  describes  Lechlade  Church 
yard  ?  I  always  think  of  it  in  a  place  like  this." 
And  he  recited,  with  oppressive  grandeur  :  — 

" '  The  dead  are  sleeping  in  their  sepulchres  ; 

And  mouldering  as  they  sleep,  a  thrilling  sound, 
Half  sense,  half  thought,  among  the  darkness  stirs, 

Breathed  from  their  wormy  beds,  all  living  things  around ; 
And  mingling  with  the  still  night  and  mute  sky 

Its  awful  hush  is  felt  inaudibly.'  " 

"  Don't,  Mr.  Parsons,"  said  Mrs.  Stanton.  "  It 
goes  right  down  my  back." 

"  Ah,  well,  ladies  are  not  generally  very  appre 
ciative  of  poetic  melancholy  —  h'm  —  h'm  —  h'm." 

So  they  wandered  on  again,  past  the  baths 
and  the  stadium,  to  the  Poecile,  whence  they  had 
started.  There  they  went  out  to  the  platform,  built 
above  the  throng  of  little  cells,  which  were  once 
the  dwellings  of  the  slaves,  a  vast  stretch  of  open 
ground,  looking  toward  the  west,  over  the  olive 
orchards  and  the  Campagna,  toward  Rome.  Of 
course,  nothing  is  to  be  seen  of  the  city  itself  ;  but 
the  huge  dome  of  St.  Peter's  hangs,  like  a  leaden 


144  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

cloud,  on  the  horizon,  and  very  little  imagination  is 
required  to  picture  the  old  Emperor,  sitting  there 
silent  in  the  autumn  sunlight,  looking  toward  his 
capital,  so  much  larger  then  than  now,  hearing  in 
fancy  the  hum  of  humanity  tramping  its  busy 
streets,  and  comparing  with  that  endless  rumor 
and  tumult  the  blessed  quiet  of  his  rich  retreat. 

"  Shall  we  ever  have  an  emperor  in  our  coun 
try,"  said  uncle  Edwin,  "  to  build  palaces  for  him 
self  with  the  labor  of  the  million  and  overturn  the 
world  with  his  wars  and  luxury  ?  " 

"  No,  no  !  "  answered  Mr.  Parsons.  "  Man 
kind  will  never  go  back  to  such  barbarism  as  that. 
The  rights  of  all  men  will  be  respected.  Liberty 
will  never  be  lost  again.  Wealth  is  vulgar  and 
war  outgrown."  Then,  turning  to  Priscilla  and 
Gordon,  who  were  sitting  quietly  a  little  apart : 
"  You  young  people  don't  care  for  politics  and  em 
perors  ;  but  you  do  feel  nature  and  poetry.  You 
can't  take  your  eyes  off  the  dim  grandeur  of  that 
dome.  That 's  right.  That 's  right.  But  you  don't 
remember  the  two  lines  of  Shelley,  which  express 
such  an  object  to  perfection,  — 

'  Pinnacled  dim  in  the  intense  inane,'  — 

and  — 

'  Islanded  in  the  immeasurable  air.' 

Poetry  is  like  the  sun-drenched  light,  which  gives 
an  added,  almost  unutterable  beauty  to  things  al 
ready  beautiful  in  themselves." 


LOVE   IN   RUINS  145 

Neither  Priscilla  nor  Gordon  responded  very 
much  to  these  rhapsodies ;  but  they  felt  them. 
The  mood  that  comes  at  such  times  and  in  such 
places  is  a  very  complicated  one,  a  fabric  woven  of 
a  hundred  different  strands,  each  frail,  delicate,  al 
most  impalpable ;  yet  the  perfect  tissue  holds  its 
place  in  memory  long,  long  after.  Just  what  ele 
ments,  in  the  sum  total  of  feeling,  each  of  them 
owed  to  the  other,  neither  cared  at  that  moment  to 
examine.  But  as  they  made  their  way  homeward, 
not  loudly,  but  happily,  they  both  felt  that  they 
had  moved  a  step  nearer  to  each  other ;  and  in 
these  matters  a  step  is  more  than  a  league  stride 
in  all  the  other  movements  of  the  world.  With 
Priscilla,  however,  the  feeling  was  much  more 
definite  than  with  Gordon.  She  was,  by  nature, 
somewhat  inclined  to  reflect  on  her  own  doings  ; 
but  he  had  no  disposition  to  reflect  on  his  own  or 
other  people's.  He  had  spent  many  rich  days  with 
pretty  girls  in  the  sunlight,  and  this  might  be  sim 
ply  another,  to  remember,  when  he  should  find 
himself 

"Sans  teeth,  sans  eyes,  sans  taste,  sans  everything." 


CHAPTER  XIII 
CHOPIN  AND   SUICIDE 

THE  fine  weather  which  had  favored  the  excursion 
to  Hadrian's  Villa  was  followed  by  day  after  day 
of  such  chilly,  depressing  cold,  cloudiness,  and  driz 
zle  as  is  usual  in  sunny  Italy,  especially  in  Novem 
ber  and  December.  Large,  ragged  masses  of  gray 
mist  trailed  over  the  sky,  enveloping  the  Eternal 
City  and  all  its  surroundings  with  dampness  and 
misery.  Even  the  gay  and  philosophical  Romans 
frowned,  as  they  wrapped  themselves  more  closely 
in  their  cloaks ;  and  the  homesick  forestieri  did 
their  sight-seeing  with  a  lagging  step  and  cold  at 
the  heart. 

Gordon  did  not  suffer  from  cold  at  the  heart; 
still  the  weather  may  have  counted  for  something 
in  the  unaccustomed  condition  of  annoyance  in 
which  he  found  himself.  The  few  words  which  he 
had  exchanged  with  Priscilla  on  Edgar's  affairs  at 
the  picnic  had  made  it  perfectly  and  finally  evident 
that  nothing  was  to  be  hoped  for  in  that  direction. 
If  any  confirmation  were  needed,  Edgar  supplied  it 
by  his  constantly  increasing  devotion  to  the  Coun 
tess  Markovski.  It  is  true,  Gordon  gathered  from 


CHOPIN   AND   SUICIDE  147 

a  remark  dropped  here  and  there  that  the  youth 
did  not  very  often  succeed  in  seeing  his  lady-love. 
But  he  certainly  made  frequent  efforts  to  see  her ; 
and  his  failures  exasperated  a  disposition  not  natu 
rally  the  most  amiable,  until  living  with  him  be 
came  a  sort  of  nineteenth-century  martyrdom.  The 
fact  that  he  failed  was  also  most  disquieting  to 
Gordon  ;  for  he  knew  that  if  the  lady  really  wished 
to  get  rid  of  her  admirer,  she  could  have  cured  him 
in  twenty-four  hours.  If  she  did  not  do  this,  the 
inference  was  that  she  was  simply  holding  off  to 
entrap  him  more  securely. 

Under  these  circumstances,  what  was  to  be  done  ? 
The  tutor  avoided  this  question  by  running  about 
as  much  as  possible.  He  did  not  go  to  the  Stan- 
tons',  though  he  could  scarcely  have  told  why.  It 
certainly  did  not  definitely  occur  to  him  that  it  was 
wiser  to  keep  away  from  Priscilla.  But  he  went 
among  his  old  artist  friends,  lounged  in  their  studios, 
smoked,  chatted,  and  told  stories.  He  dawdled  at 
Mrs.  Barton's,  called  on  one  or  two  young  women 
and  showed  them  about  the  city,  even  sketched  a 
little,  with  most  unsatisfactory  results,  did  all  he 
could,  in  short,  to  forget  that  amusing  himself  was 
not  his  sole  and  sufficient  duty. 

But  he  could  not  forget  it  altogether.  Visions 
of  Papa  Payne  haunted  his  morning  slumbers  and 
framed  themselves  in  wreaths  of  smoke  out  of 
his  most  peaceful  pipe.  Something  must  be  done, 
something  must  certainly  be  done.  What? 


148  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

Various  solutions  presented  themselves,  none  very 
satisfactory.  He  could  not  bring  himself  to  speak 
frankly  to  Edgar  about  the  Countess  —  not  yet. 
It  might  come  to  that.  Meantime,  what  if  he 
should  go  to  see  Antonia  and  have  a  talk  with 
her?  He  had  no  very  definite  idea  in  doing  so. 
He  might  —  no,  it  was  too  absurd  —  yes,  he  might 
run  off  with  the  lady  himself  —  if  she  would  go 
with  him.  It  would  be  ruin,  certainly,  ruin  body 
and  soul.  There  are  follies  of  youth  and  follies  of 
middle  age,  and  the  latter  are  unpardonable  and 
irrevocable.  Then  how  little  would  be  gained  ?  To 
be  sure,  Edgar  would  be  saved  from  this  particular 
misfortune;  but  he  would  not  be  one  whit  nearer 
to  Priscilla,  and  he  would  be  certain  to  fall  into 
some  other  of  the  black  abysses  which  gaped  for 
him.  Yet,  on  the  other  hand,  he,  Gordon,  would 
have  ceased  to  be  responsible,  he  would  have  capped 
the  climax  of  his  failures  with  one  piece  of  colossal 
self-sacrifice.  It  is  so  rare  in  life  that  a  temptation 
comes  in  the  form  of  a  colossal  self-sacrifice  :  ought 
he  really  to  let  it  go  ? 

Yes,  he  would  see  the  Countess  Markovski  and 
try  to  divine  her  plans.  Then  he  smiled  at  the 
idea  of  his  divining  anything  which  the  Countess 
Markovski  wished  to  conceal.  As  to  his  own  course, 
he  would  be  governed  entirely  by  circumstances. 
Only  great  men  and  fools  act  on  impulse  ;  and  one 
cannot  tell  which  one  is,  till  one  has  followed  that 
method  for  a  certain  length  of  time. 


CHOPIN   AND   SUICIDE  149 

It  was  a  dark  afternoon,  even  more  rainy,  damp, 
and  detestable  than  those  that  had  preceded  it, 
when  Gordon  made  his  way  to  24  Via  Ludovisi 
and  rang  the  bell  at  the  door  of  the  Countess.  He 
had  passed  a  dismal,  homeless  morning,  loafing 
about  the  forlorn  sitting-room  in  his  lodgings,  read 
ing  a  little,  while  Edgar  stuck  unresponsively  to 
some  financial  column  or  other.  Now,  as  he  was 
shown  into  the  snug,  quiet  drawing-room,  with  two 
or  three  candles,  giving  a  doubtful,  pleasant  twi 
light  in  the  middle  of  the  winter  afternoon,  and 
with  a  bright  fire  glowing  in  the  grate,  he  breathed 
a  long  sigh  of  relief  and  comfort. 

The  Countess  was  sitting  at  the  piano,  playing 
a  mazurka  of  Chopin.  Though  she  saw  him  when 
he  entered,  she  did  not  rise  till  she  had  finished 
the  piece,  leisurely.  Her  performance  showed  no 
special  signs  of  training,  but  there  was  a  lan 
guid,  passionate  grace  about  it,  which  seemed 
to  harmonize  with  the  very  spirit  of  the  Polish 
composer. 

When  she  had  struck  the  last  chord,  she  sat  per 
fectly  still  for  an  instant,  looking  straight  at  Gor 
don  ;  and  he  almost  thought  'her  large  dark  eyes 
were  full  of  tears.  Then  she  got  up  slowly  and 
came  towards  him,  with  both  hands  extended.  He 
had  never  seen  her  more  lovely.  She  wore  a  plain 
morning-gown  of  black  silk,  simple  and  straight, 
with  soft  white  ruching  at  the  throat.  The  only 
color  was  a  bit  of  lavender  ribbon  about  her  wrists. 


150  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

As  she  held  out  her  hands  before  her,  the  opal 
flashed  on  them. 

"  Che  brutto  tempo  !  "  she  said  softly.  "  Amico, 
—  you  are  so  good  to  come.  I  had  an  instinct  of 
it  and  told  them  I  was  at  home  to  no  one  but  you. 
You  always  bring  sunshine.  What,  no  ?  "  as  Gor 
don  shook  his  head  in  doubt.  "  You  must.  I  need 
it.  I  am  like  a  fairy  drooping  under  a  toadstool, 
when  it  rains  so  long  and  so  drearily." 

"  It  is  better  to  be  a  fairy  at  any  time,"  Gordon 
murmured.  Loud  speech  in  that  atmosphere 
seemed  somehow  impossible. 

"  No,  no,"  she  answered  vehemently,  still  stand 
ing,  but  letting  go  his  hand,  which  she  had  held 
till  then.  "  Not  a  fairy !  It  is  best  to  be  a  ma 
chine,  with  a  steel  heart  and  a  hard  rubber  tire  — 
hard,  hard,  anything,  so  it  be  hard."  She  turned 
and  walked  across  the  room.  "  Come,"  she  said. 
"  Draw  up  a  chair  for  you  and  one  for  me.  Let  us 
have  a  quiet  chat  —  just  as  if  we  were  man  and 
wife,  you  know  —  before  the  domestic  hearth.  It 
is  odd,  but  sometimes  I  feel  as  if  I  should  like  a 
domestic  hearth  —  I,  who  can  never  by  any  chance 
have  one." 

Gordon  did  as  she  bade  him  and  sat  down  be 
side  her  in  silence.  He  did  not  want  to  speak  or 
think  —  yet. 

"  You  don't  talk,"  she  began.  "  Then  the  weather 
has  affected  even  you  —  and  living  in  lodgings  — 
with  that  awful  creature."  She  made  a  little  ges- 


CHOPIN   AND   SUICIDE  151 

ture  of  disgust.  "  How  weary  one  gets  of  it  all. 
It  is  n't  the  ugliness  of  life,  or  the  wickedness, 
or  even  the  suffering ;  it  is  the  flatness,  the  dreary, 
dull  monotony,  just  one  same  even  plain,  out,  out, 
out  to  the  end  of  the  world."  Her  flat,  spread 
hands  hinted  at  the  endless  dullness  of  her  spirit. 
Then  she  rested  her  elbows  on  the  arm  of  her 
chair,  her  face  on  her  hands,  and  gazed  at  him 
intently.  "  I  was  thinking  about  suicide,  when  I 
was  playing  that  mazurka,  as  you  came  in.  Do 
you  ever  think  about  suicide  ?  " 

"  Never,"  replied  Gordon  placidly.  He  was  very 
comfortable. 

"  No,  I  dare  say  not.  But  I  do.  Do  you  suppose 
those  who  think  about  it  so  much  ever  do  it  ?  I  'm 
not  afraid,  you  know.  And  I  'm  so  curious.  Oh, 
so  curious.  Will  one  be  so  bored  —  over  on  the 
other  side  ?  Will  it  be  new  and  fresh  and  excit 
ing  ?  I  think  Hell  would  be  exciting.  But  Heaven 
—  they  all  do  their  best  to  make  one  sick  of  it  be 
forehand.  Then,  after  all,  it  seems  braver  to  fight 
it  out  here.  Let  them  pile  mountains  of  ennui  on 
top  of  one  ;  one  can  find  or  make  amusement  still." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  Gordon  agreed.  "  I  never  had  to 
work  so  hard  for  it.  Amusement  is  much  easier  to 
come  by  than  tobacco." 

"  Child,"  she  said,  laughing  and  laying  her  hand 
on  his,  "  eternal  child !  " 

They  sat  silent  for  a  few  minutes.  The  fire 
glowed  and  crackled  pleasantly  before  them.  Gor- 


152  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

don  was  surprised  to  find  himself  thinking  of 
Priscilla  and  their  chat  of  a  few  days  before,  and 
not  of  his  companion  or  present  circumstances 
at  all. 

But  the  Countess  Markovski  was  determined  to 
be  thought  of.  "  Well,"  she  began  in  a  more 
practical  and  business-like  tone.  "  Well,  when  is 
the  marriage  ?  " 

"  Marriage !  "  Gordon  ejaculated,  almost  as  if 
he  had  waked  up  in  a  strange  place. 

"  I  said  marriage.  You  are  dull  to-day,  my 
friend."  There  was  a  grain  of  acid  in  her  tone. 
"  Master  and  Miss  Millions  —  surely  they  —  or 
you  —  have  made  a  match  of  it  by  this  time." 

It  was  an  uninteresting  subject.  "  Don't  ask 
me,"  was  Gordon's  weary  answer.  "  You  are 
simply  impertinent,  Countess.  As  if  you  did  not 
know  more  about  it  than  I  do." 

"  I  know  ?  "  laughed  she  mischievously.  "  Well, 
yes,  perhaps  I  do.  Poor  boy !  He  did  undertake 
something  that  was  too  much  for  him,  and  every 
thing  went  crooked,  and  the  queen  and  knave 
would  not  come  together,  and  butterflies  should 
not  be  set  to  do  the  serious  work  of  life  —  so  they 
shouldn't."  Then  she  sat  straight  up  and  looked 
right  before  her  and  spoke  as  clear  and  harsh  as 
a  salesgirl  who  has  been  at  the  trade  thirteen 
years.  "  Now,  Mr.  Gordon,  let  us  talk  business. 
You  felt  it  to  be  your  duty  to  marry  young  Payne 
to  this  piece  of  light-haired,  blue-eyed  absorbent 


CHOPIN   AND   SUICIDE  153 

cotton,  who  was  brought  here  on  purpose.  Oh, 
I  've  seen  her,  I  know  her  —  right  through  and 
through  —  so."  She  made  the  gesture  of  unravel 
ing  a  skein  of  silk.  "  You  can't  do  it,  of  course. 
Anybody  —  even  you  —  might  have  known  you 
could  n't  beforehand." 

She  paused  for  an  instant.  Gordon  listened, 
but  showed  no  sign  of  any  particular  interest. 
"Well?"  he  asked. 

"  Well !  It  is  well  —  for  me.  Do  you  under 
stand  ?  I  am  going  to  marry  the  young  fellow  my 
self.  I  want  his  millions  —  well,"  as  Gordon  made 
a  gesture  of  irritation  — "  his  father's  millions 
then.  What  difference  does  it  make  ?  I  am  tired 
of  this  life,  tired  of  being  a  Bohemian,  or  a  Pole, 
for  nothing.  I  want  respectability.  I  know  very 
well  that  it  is  the  most  contemptible  thing  in  the 
world  when  you  've  got  it,  the  emptiest,  the  most 
tedious  "  — 

"  Nothing  could  ever  make  you  tedious,  Coun 
tess." 

"  Or  respectable.  When  did  you  learn  this  trick 
of  sneering  ?  It  does  n't  become  you.  You  did  n't 
do  it  three  years  ago.  But  that  is  just  what  I  can 
be  —  respectable.  And  that  is  why  respectability 
is  such  a  poor  thing.  But  I  want  it.  And  I  want 
money.  I  am  tired  of  bills  and  shifts  and  shifty 
speculations,  and  footmen  who  would  take  one's 
pocketbook,  if  there  were  anything  in  it,  and  cut 
one's  throat,  if  it  did  n't  spoil  their  only  chance  of 


154  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

getting  their  wages.  I  want  ease  and  comfort.  I 
am  getting  old." 

"  Do  you  want  Edgar  Payne  ?  "  asked  Gordon 
half  absently. 

"  No,  child,  no.  But  what  wouldst  thou  have  ? 
One  cannot  get  everything  for  nothing.  Really, 
I  never  saw  such  a  creature  in  all  my  varied  ex 
perience.  But  I  can  manage  him."  She  paused, 
and  for  a  few  seconds  there  was  silence.  Then  she 
spoke  again  :  "  Well,  what  do  you  say  ?  Will  you 
let  me  alone  ?  " 

Gordon  made  no  answer  at  first,  no  direct  an 
swer  at  all.  Now  was  the  moment,  the  critical  mo 
ment.  But  somehow  the  suggestion  of  the  domestic 
hearth  lingered  with  him,  and  Priscilla's  face  kept 
coming  back.  Yet  what  else  was  he  to  do,  what 
else  could  he  do,  in  the  face  of  such  a  clear  decla 
ration  as  had  just  been  made  to  him?  At  length 
he  spoke,  in  a  low,  hoarse  voice :  "  Antonia,  you 
seem  to  have  forgotten  some  of  the  things  you 
were  reminding  me  of  the  other  day  —  in  this  very 
room." 

She  turned  upon  him  like  lightning.  "  Ah,  you 
are  such  a  child,  Robert  Gordon,  such  a  child, 
seen  through  so  easily  !  That  is  your  forlorn  hope, 
is  it,  and  you  are  going  to  throw  yourself  into 
the  breach,  when  every  other  chance  fails  ?  You 
thought  I  could  be  imposed  on  by  such  a  trick 
as  that?"  Then,  with  one  of  those  marvelous 
changes  which  were  the  greatest  of  her  charms, 


CHOPIN  AND   SUICIDE  155 

• 

she  turned  and  leaned  towards  him,  her  dark  eyes 
full  upon  him,  her  voice  as  soft  as  far-heard 
music :  "  Well,  you  thought  right.  I  will  walk 
straight  into  the  trap  with  my  eyes  open.  I  will 
be  fool  to  the  very  limit  of  human  folly.  I  can't 
understand  or  fathom  the  love  that  I  have  for  you. 
Why  is  it,  why,  why?  You  are  handsome,  yes. 
You  are  clever,  yes.  But  it  is  not  that.  It  is  the 
sunshine  in  you.  Oh,  how  I  missed  it  when  you  left 
me !  Just  a  little  aching  spot  here.  It  would  go 
for  moments  and  I  would  think  I  had  forgotten. 
Then  it  came  back  and  stung  me  with  such  a 
fierce,  sharp,  sweet  pain.  My  sunshine !  My  sun 
shine  !  Roberto  !  Roberto  V  angelo,  or  il  dlavolo, 
Roberto  mio,  come  with  me  and  let  me  have  sun 
shine  always.  Come !  Come."  She  dropped  her 
voice  to  a  whisper,  far-away  and  soft,  yet  with  a 
quality  that  seemed  as  if  it  might  pierce  to  the 
utmost  limit  of  the  world. 

And  he  heard  her,  and  he  answered  nothing. 
The  more  she  spoke,  the  more  impossible  her  sum 
mons  seemed  to  him.  Yet  he  saw  she  loved  him. 
It  was,  indeed,  difficult  to  believe  in  the  depth  or 
permanence  of  her  affection.  What  could  it  be 
but  wayward  caprice  and  flighty  fancy,  hollow,  elu 
sive,  and  deceiving  as  a  wreath  of  moonlit  mist  ? 
Yet,  after  her  fashion,  she  did  love  him,  and  three 
years  ago  the  assurance  of  that  fact  would  have 
been  an  epitome  of  heaven.  But  now  it  was 
strangely  indifferent  and  cold  to  him ;  and  still,  in 


156  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

the  tranquil  gloom,  he  saw  the  calm  face  and  the 
deep  blue  eyes  with  the  golden  hair  above  them. 
So  he  sat  and  answered  nothing.  Outside  the  wind 
raged  in  sudden,  unequal  blasts,  and  dashed  the 
drops  against  the  window  panes. 

"  Very  well,"  she  said,  at  length,  in  a  voice  a 
little  hoarse,  but  calm  and  cold  once  more.  "  You 
have  n't  even  the  poor  courage  to  make  a  fool  of 
yourself  completely.  N' 'en  parlous  plus.  Tell  me, 
then,  is  it  peace  or  war  ?  " 

"  Peace,  Countess,  certainly,  if  you  ask  my  in 
clination." 

"  I  don't  ask  your  inclination.  It  is  n't  worth 
the  trouble  of  my  considering  it.  I  simply  ask  you, 
will  you  let  me  marry  this  —  fellow,  without  any 
interference  ?  " 

"  I  can't  do  that." 

"  You  can't !  You  can't !  You  won't !  And  yet 
you  can't  help  it.  What  can  you  do  against  me  ?  " 

"  What,  indeed  ?  Still  there  is  a  certain  obliga 
tion  "  — 

She  did  not  condescend  to  notice  this  plea.  "  I 
suppose  your  next  step  will  be  to  describe  me  to 
your  —  promising  pupil,"  she  said,  "to  give  him 
my  history  ?  " 

"  Countess  —  what  can  I  do  ?  This  marriage  will 
be  wretched  for  him,  wretched  for  you,  for  every 
body.  I  must  use  such  weapons  as  I  have  in  my 
hands." 

"  Ah,  yes,"  she  asserted  scornfully.   "  But  don't 


CHOPIN   AND   SUICIDE  157 

pretend  to  care  for  my  welfare.  Don't  attempt  a 
hypocrisy  which  will  never  suit  you.  Poor  butter 
fly,  whose  soul  shines  through  your  eyes,  as  clearly 
as  if  you  wore  it  on  your  sleeve.  And,  I  suppose, 
you  will  give  him  a  full  and  succinct  history  of  your 
own  little  experience  with  the  terrible  Countess, 
and  how  she  roared,  and  what  luck  you  had  to  get 
out  of  the  cage  alive." 

Gordon  began  to  perceive  that  he  was  not 
having  a  good  time  of  it.  "  I  do  not  think  it 
will  be  necessary  to  mention  myself  at  all,"  he 
said,  "certainly  not  at  present.  Can  I  tell  you, 
can  I  make  you  believe  how  horrible  this  all  is  to 
me?" 

"  Why,  yes,"  she  answered,  with  a  cold,  hard 
smile,  "  I  can  understand  that  it  is  n't  pleasant. 
Do  you  think  I  am  sorry  for  you  ?  But  then  I 
quite  agree  with  you  that  it  will  not  be  necessary 
to  bring  our  own  relations  into  question  at  all. 
When  you  have  narrated  in  detail  all  you  know 
about  me  in  other  ways  and  all  you  have  heard, 
you  will  doubtless  gain  your  end,  and  everybody 
will  be  happy.  Only,  I  advise  you  to  go  back 
to  America  with  the  dear,  just  as  quickly  as  ever 
you  can.  And  now,  don't  you  think  you  had  bet 
ter  terminate  this  interview,  as  the  newspapers 
say,  and  leave  me  once  more  to  Chopin  and  sui 
cide  ?  " 

Gordon  did  think  so.  "  Antonia,"  he  said,  as  he 
rose,  "  you  are  cruel  to  me." 


158  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

Even  in  that  dim  light,  he  was  stopped  by  the 
whiteness  of  her  face.  "  Cruel ! "  she  repeated. 
"  O  God !  "  Then  she  resumed  her  ordinary  man 
ner,  with  no  apparent  effort.  "  This  has  n't  been  a 
pleasant  call,  has  it  ?  If  I  were  you,  I  would  n't 
»  come  again." 


CHAPTER  XIV 
A  CONVERSION 

As  the  Countess  said,  the  call  had  not  been  plea 
sant.  Gordon,  in  thinking  it  over  during  the  next 
few  days,  felt  that  it  had  been  very  unpleasant,  and, 
what  was  much  contrary  to  the  ordinary  habit  of 
his  nature,  he  was  not  able  to  stop  thinking  of  it 
on  that  account.  He  had  appeared  to  great  disad 
vantage  himself;  but  that  did  not  trouble  him 
much.  What  was  more  important,  he  had  not  ac 
complished  his  purpose  and  seemed  to  be  farther 
away  than  ever  from  his  final  object.  That  troubled 
huii  a  good  deal. 

Antonia  had  declared  positively  that  she  wished 
to  marry  Edgar  and  would  marry  him,  and  she 
had  referred  to  any  effort  that  Gordon  might  make 
to  prevent  her  with  a  contempt  which  was  fully 
shared  by  Gordon  himself.  Nevertheless,  he  felt 
that  he  was  just  as  much  bound  as  ever  to  make 
such  effort,  more  bound.  Only,  how  should  he 
make  it,  when  ?  Should  he  get  hold  of  Edgar  at 
once  and  go  into  an  elaborate  revelation  of  what 
the  past  of  such  a  woman  was  ?  How  could  he  do 
it  ?  The  very  thought  was  well-nigh  intolerable  to 
him. 


160  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

Even  now,  after  all,  would  it  be  absolutely 
necessary?  Edgar  was  no  fool,  with  all  his  oddi 
ties.  Would  he  really  do  anything  so  foolish  ?  If 
this  was  a  rather  infirm  reliance,  as  Gordon  con 
fessed  to  himself  it  was,  would  the  Countess  do 
anything  so  foolish,  in  spite  of  all  she  had  said? 
Her  will  was  iron  when  it  was  fixed ;  but  it  was  so 
seldom  fixed.  Was  it  fixed  now  ?  That  she  under 
stood  Edgar  perfectly  and  despised  him  and  loathed 
him,  was  beyond  possibility  of  question.  Would 
she  then,  fine  and  sensitive  as  her  nature  was, 
with  all  its  waywardness  and  all  its  wickedness, 
would  she  deliberately  bind  herself,  sell  herself 
to  what  she  loathed  and  despised  ?  Again,  it  was 
probable  she  would.  Still,  there  was  a  chance,  and 
on  the  strength  of  it  Gordon  delayed  action  a  little 
longer.  "  Let  us  wait  and  watch  a  day  or  two," 
he  said  to  himself. 

The  Countess's  tactics  at  first  seemed  to  en 
courage  him.  Edgar  tried  again  and  again  to  see 
her  and  failed.  He  complained  openly  to  Gordon, 
having  no  one  else  to  whom  he  might  impart  the 
irresistible  confidences  of  love. 

"  Hang  it !  What 's  the  matter  with  the  woman  ?  " 
he  said.  "  What 's  the  use  of  drawing  a  feller  on 
and  then  turning  your  back  on  him  ?  " 

"  What''s  the  use  indeed  ?  "  was  Gordon's  philo 
sophic  answer.  "  Why  do  you  waste  any  more  time 
on  her  ?  She  's  not  worth  it." 

"  Oh,  that  '11  do,  Gordy !    You  're  always  work- 


A   CONVERSION  161 

ing  for  that  pale-haired  Stanton  thing.  I  'd  give 
more  for  five  minutes  of  the  Countess  Markovski 
than  for  five  years  of  her." 

It  was  evident  that  the  lady  was  holding  off. 
But,  alas,  when  Gordon  came  to  think  it  over,  sit 
ting  on  the  Pincian  in  the  afternoon  sunlight,  with 
a  cigar  in  his  mouth  and  his  eyes  half  shut,  the 
holding  off  did  not  seem  quite  so  encouraging.  It 
might  be  because  she  had  not  made  up  her  mind, 
but  it  was  much  more  likely  to  be  because  she  had. 
He  must  have  it  out  with  Edgar.  That  was  evi 
dent,  and  at  the  first  opportunity  he  would. 

So  much  having  been  decided,  he  dismissed  the 
matter  from  his  thoughts,  leaned  back,  and,  with 
idle  curiosity,  watched  the  gay  and  motley  crowd, 
as  it  passed  slowly  by  him.  The  exhibition  on  the 
Pincian  is  certainly  tame  and  second-rate  com 
pared  with  Hyde  Park  or  even  with  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne.  Still,  on  a  bright  winter  afternoon,  one 
can  find  amusement  in  it,  if  one  is  not  too  critical. 
It  is,  at  any  rate,  cosmopolitan  enough.  First  a 
pseudo-Russian,  after  the  fashion  of  the  Countess 
Markovski,  will  drive  past  you,  leaning  back  in  her 
luxurious  furs,  with  a  furtive  glance  cast  now  and 
then  at  some  impudent  Italian  officer,  who  salutes 
her,  militarily.  Then,  perhaps,  comes  an  old  Eng 
lish  dowager,  looking  as  much  as  possible  like  the 
late  queen,  fat  horses,  fat  coachman,  fat  lap-dog, 
lean  companion,  oh,  so  lean  and  weary.  Then  two 
Prussians  in  a  cab,  with  their  mustaches  pointing 


162  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

to  their  ears,  looking  as  if  the  world  was  made  for 
them.  Then,  in  another  cab,  particularly  shabby 
and  miserable,  three  American  girls,  laughing,  ges 
ticulating,  and  generally  scandalizing  the  foreigner. 
Then  a  cardinal,  black,  black,  all  black.  Then  a  Pa- 
risienne  —  marquise  —  or  otherwise.  Then  a  gor 
geous  ambassador.  Then  two  country  curates,  or,  it 
may  be,  a  New  York  millionaire.  So  it  goes.  And  to 
be  idle  and  watch  it  all  is  infinitely  more  amusing 
than  to  think  about  naughty  countesses  and  tedious 
pupils  and  the  difficult  problems  of  life  generally. 

By  and  by  Gordon  was  aware  of  a  face  that  he 
recognized,  not  the  first  by  any  means,  but  the  first 
that  he  had  recognized  with  pleasure.  Priscilla  was 
driving  alone  in  the  great  carriage,  leaning  back 
with  as  much  nonchalant  ease  and  grace  as  any 
countess  of  them  all,  and  Gordon  said  to  himself 
that  neither  Pole  nor  Parisienne  was  any  lovelier 
than  she.  She  was  dressed  all  in  gray,  —  gray  hat, 
gray  furs,  gray  gloves ;  and  the  rosy  hue  of  her 
face,  heightened  by  the  fresh  west  wind,  contrasted 
charmingly  with  the  even,  cold  tone  of  her  costume. 

She  at  once  beckoned  Gordon  to  the  side  of  the 
carriage,  opening  the  door  for  him,  since  she  could 
not  stop  the  general  movement  to  let  him  chat 
with  her.  It  was  a  bit  unconventional ;  but  he  knew 
that  Americans  could  still  do  what  they  liked,  in 
Rome  especially.  Besides,  his  mother  had  not 
brought  him  up  to  resist  temptation,  as  the  reader 
will  already  have  perceived. 


A  CONVERSION  163 

"  Well,"  Priscilla  began,  "  I  have  quarreled 
with  you,  Mr.  Gordon." 

"  How  pleasant.    I  do  love  a  reconciliation." 

"  Ah,  but  there  will  be  a  penance  with  this." 

"  H'm.  Tell  me  the  penance.  Then  I  will  decide 
whether  I  have  committed  the  sin  or  not." 

"  You  can't  deny  it,  even  with  all  your  ingenu 
ity.  Where  have  you  been  for  two  weeks  past  ?  " 

"  Why,  here.    In  Rome." 

"  See,  you  have  confessed  it  already.  Did  you 
undertake  to  show  me  Rome,  or  did  you  not  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  but  I  would  gladly  show  you  all 
the  kingdoms  of  the  earth.  As  for  Rome,  there  it 
is."  He  waved  his  hand  over  the  city  with  an  im 
perial  gesture. 

"  Then  I  am  to  suppose  that  you  did  n't  find  me 
a  responsive  listener,  that  all  girls  from  Chicago 
are  bores,  and  that  you  are  going  to  break  your 
deliberate  promise  ?  " 

"  Did  you  really  suppose  all  that  ?  "  said  Gordon, 
with  sympathetic  interest. 

"  What  else  could  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Well,  now,  the  truth  is  that  I  stayed  away 
for  very  shame." 

"Shame?    Why?   I  don't  understand." 

"  I  don't  think  you  take  my  mission  with  regard 
to  you  half  seriously  enough.  I  was  expected  to 
get  you  married.  I  can't  do  it.  And  the  very 
thought  of  you,  much  more  the  sight  of  you,  fills 
me  with  humiliation." 


164  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

u  Dear,  dear,"  said  Priscilla.  "  That 's  very 
depressing  for  me.  Perhaps  you  'd  like  to  get 
out." 

"  No,"  Gordon  answered,  with  resignation.  "  No, 
a  little  mortification  is  good  for  me." 

There  was  a  subtle  pleasure  for  both  of  them  in 
the  intimacy  of  this  badinage.  For  a  few  moments 
they  said  nothing.  The  carriage  rolled  on  heavily, 
and  they  watched  the  stream  of  humanity  drift  by. 
Before  Gordon  knew  it,  they  were  passing  the 
Countess  Markovski.  Her  carriage,  horses,  and 
liveries  were  black  as  a  cardinal's,  and  she  made 
a  striking  figure,  sitting  alone,  with  the  black  robes 
and  cushions  about  her,  dressed  in  black  also,  but 
wrapped  in  heavy,  rich  white  furs.  Gordon  raised 
his  hat,  feeling  uncomfortable  that  she  should  see 
him  driving  with  Priscilla. 

"  Who  was  the  lady,  if  I  may  ask  ?  "  inquired 
the  latter. 

"  The  Countess  Markovski,"  was  the  brief  an 
swer.  Then,  continuing  in  the  train  of  thought 
thus  suggested,  Gordon  said,  "  Really,  I  have  done 
my  best  to  get  Edgar  to  come  and  see  you,  but  he 
won't." 

"  Do  you  know,"  Priscilla  answered,  with  a 
hint  of  mischief,  "it  is,  well,  I  may  say,  a  new 
experience,  to  have  everybody  trying  to  drag  a 
young  man  after  one."  Gordon  raised  his  hand 
beseechingly.  "  That  is  just  what  it  is,  you 
know.  But  I  think  I  might  get  quite  interested. 


A  CONVERSION  165 

Would  n't  it  be  fun  to  enchant  Orson,  to  arouse 
his  young  affections,  bring  him  to  one's  feet,  and 
then  "  — 

"And  then"  —echoed  Gordon,  with  a  certain 
irritated  curiosity. 

"  And  then  marry  him,  of  course,  and  become  a 
multi-millionairess,  and  a  leader  of  Boston  society  ? 
Would  n't  it  be  fun  now  ?  " 

"  That  is  a  matter  of  "  —  Gordon  began,  but 
changing  his  tone,  "  Certainly  it  would  be  fun. 
By  all  means,  do  it.  You  can't  imagine  how  it 
would  relieve  my  conscience." 

"  Of  course,  if  it  would  relieve  your  conscience 
—  but  do  you  really  think  I  could  do  it  ?  " 

"  I  've  no  doubt  you  could  do  it,"  was  the  enthu 
siastic  answer. 

"  Very  well,  then,  I  don't  care  to  try.  If  you 
said  I  could  n't  do  it,  I  might  be  tempted.  I  should 
do  it  for  poor  papa's  sake  though,  much  sooner 
than  for  yours.  You  can't  think  what  heroic  efforts 
he  has  made  in  behalf  of  friendship.  He  has  tried 
early  and  late  to  catch  Mr.  Payne.  I  don't  think 
he  has  succeeded  but  once,  and  then  he  came  home 
boiling.  As  for  getting  Edgar  to  come  and  see  us, 
it  seems  to  be  out  of  the  question.  Flattering,  is  n't 
it  ?  I  suppose  he  thinks  I  shall  eat  him  up.  And 
the  letters  papa  writes  to  Mr.  Payne  at  home  — 
I  have  n't  seen  them,  but  mamma  says  the  ingenu 
ity  of  them  is  something  "  — 

"  Ingenuity,"  interrupted  Gordon,  with  a  groan. 


166  THE  PRIVATE   TUTOR 

"  What  do  you  suppose  my  letters  are  on  the 
same  subject  ?  " 

"  Well,  let  us  talk  about  something  else,"  Pris- 
cilla  said. 

So,  for  a  little  while,  they  talked  about  no 
thing.  They  had  just  turned  into  the  western 
portion  of  the  drive  and  were  passing  slowly  along 
the  great  stretch  of  wall  which  separates  the  Pin- 
cian  from  the  Villa  Borghese.  Long  bars  of  pale 
pink  cloud  crossed  the  sky  above.  In  front  of 
them  hung  the  leaden  dome,  immense,  eternal,  as 
it  almost  seemed. 

"  That  reminds  me  of  your  penance,"  said  Pris- 
cilla  thoughtfully. 

"  Ah,  yes,  the  penance,"  groaned  Gordon.  "  I 
get  it  from  everybody." 

"  You  must  resume  your  duties  as  cicerone  to 
morrow  morning  and  take  mamma  and  me  to  the 
Sistine  Chapel.  I  have  saved  it  especially,  because 
I  believe  you  are  to  convert  me  to  Michael  Angelo. 
I  don't  like  him." 

"  Poor  Michael !  If  he  resembles  most  other 
great  artists,  his  one  desire  was  to  please  young  and 
pretty  women.  And  they  always  get  the  old  ones 
and  the  college  professors  instead.  That  is  the 
seamy  side  of  glory.  True  glory  is  the  flattery  of 
pretty  women.  The  rest  is  vanity  and  advertising." 

"  Well,  will  you  go  with  us?  " 

"  Will  I  go  ?  And  do  my  best  to  bring  Edgar 
too." 


A  CONVERSION  167 

Priscilla  put  the  name  aside  with  a  petulant 
gesture. 

So  they  drove  homeward  among  the  returning 
throng.  As  they  passed,  many  stopped  to  gaze  at 
them,  and  many  envied  him,  and  not  a  few  also 
envied  her ;  for  they  were  as  charming  a  pair  to 
look  at  as  one  would  see  in  a  summer's  day.  And 
the  greatest  charm  of  all  was  that  they  looked  thor 
oughly  happy. 

The  next  morning  Gordon  presented  himself, 
about  ten  o'clock,  to  f  ulfill  his  engagement.  It  was 
a  bright,  clear  day,  but  as  cold  as  Rome  ever  is. 

44 1  can't  go  freezing  around  in  galleries  this 
weather,"  said  Mrs.  Stanton.  44  The  fire  is  too  com 
fortable  to  leave.  I'm  going  to  drive  with  your 
father  after  luncheon.  Go  by  yourselves.  Why 
should  n't  you  ?  " 

Priscilla  was  perfectly  willing,  and  Gordon  did 
not  see  that  it  was  his  place  to  offer  any  objection. 
So  they  drove  off  together  in  the  chilly  morning 
air,  Priscilla  trying  to  get  warmed  up  under  the 
thick  robes,  Gordon  now  and  then  saying  a  word  or 
two,  as  they  passed  some  curious  building  or  some 
odd-looking  figure. 

44  Ah  !  "  Priscilla  murmured,  with  a  sigh  of  sat 
isfaction,  when  they  swept  out  from  the  narrow 
streets  into  the  vast,  sunlit  Piazza  di  San  Pietro. 
There  was  not  a  cloud  in  the  intense  blue  sky,  not 
a  breath  of  air  shook  the  foam  of  the  fountain  as  it 
soared  upward.  The  immense  colonnade  spread  out 


168  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

its  clasping  arms  to  receive  them,  the  obelisk  tow 
ering  slight  and  stately  in  the  centre. 

"  St.  Peter's  is  the  very  embodiment  of  the  Cath 
olic  Church,"  Gordon  said.  "  Ugly,  earthy,  brood 
ing  over  humanity  like  a  colossal  nightmare ;  but 
seizing  the  imagination  by  its  mere  immensity." 

Leaving  the  carriage  at  the  great  bronze  gate, 
they  passed  the  Swiss,  whose  uniform  touched  Pris- 
cilla  by  its  picturesque  hideousness,  and  climbed 
slowly  the  vast  Scala  Regia.  The  light  in  the  Sistine 
Chapel  was  as  good  as  possible  ;  and  one  could  even 
imagine  one  found  one's  way  through  the  murky 
dilapidation  of  "  The  Last  Judgment." 

"  Now,  convert  me,"  began  Priscilla,  with  the  air 
of  a  person  who  will  not  be  converted,  never. 

"  Oh,  come !  "  Gordon  answered.  "  You  don't 
want  to  sit  right  back  like  that.  I  'm  not  a  Michael- 
Angelo  maniac  myself.  The  good  Michael  was  one 
of  those  supreme,  but  inarticulate  geniuses,  like 
Beethoven,  who  always  make  you  feel  that  they 
have  a  great  deal  more  to  say,  if  they  could  only 
say  it.  That  irritates  some  people,  who  prefer  that 
an  artist  should  give  his  message  complete,  with 
divine  placidity,  even  if  it  is  a  rather  little  one  — 
say  Mozart,  say  Raphael.  Well,  what  have  you 
seen  of  Michael's  hitherto  ?  Those  three  very  ugly 
and  laborious  old  ladies,  who  are  so  industriously 
engaged  in  sweat-shop  tailoring,  usually  labeled 
4  The  Three  Fates  '  ?  I  give  them  to  you.  Do  what 
you  like  with  them.  And  David  ?  He  is  a  muscular 


A  CONVERSION  169 

phenomenon  certainly.  Has  he  any  of  the  fugitive 
grace,  the  faunlike  youthfulness,  touched  with  a 
divine  inspiration  of  power,  which  belong  to  the 
character  ?  He  is  a  coal-heaver,  who  would  have 
downed  Goliath  at  close  hugs  every  time." 

"  But  it  seems  to  me  that  I  shall  have  to  convert 
you,"  said  Priscilla. 

"  Not  at  all,  not  at  all.  I  am  only  expressing 
your  sentiments.  Then  there  are  the  monuments 
in  the  New  Sacristy  of  San  Lorenzo  —  Night,  for 
instance.  She  is  striking  and  impressive,  certainly  ; 
but,  after  all,  it  is  the  long,  heavy,  ungainly  figure 
of  a  middle-aged  woman,  prostrated  by  a  weary 
lethargy  of  sleep.  What  poet  ever  imagined  Night 
like  that  ?  Night  is  a  creature  of  shadowy,  immor 
tal,  and  ideal  lightness,  as  she  speeds  over  the 
eastern  heaven,  in  the  quick-crowding  throng  of 
summer  stars,  with  the  moon  on  her  forehead,  and 
the  wand  of  poppies  in  her  hand.  Night  is  not 
heavy,  dull,  and  sleep-stricken  herself ;  she  is  swift, 
delicate,  full  of  grace  and  mystery,  showering 
dreams  about  her,  and  unnamed  odors,  and  indis 
tinguishable  murmurs,  in  a  vague  unrest.  Ah, 
Botticelli  should  have  painted  Night."  Gordon 
delivered  this  rhapsody  in  a  low,  even  tone,  look 
ing  curiously  at  his  companion  all  the  while.  When 
he  had  finished,  he  added,  with  a  more  commonplace 
expression :  "  Well,  do  you  think  I  understand  your 
feeling  about  Michael  now  ?  " 

"  Really,  you  go  quite  beyond    me,"    Priscilla 


170  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

answered :  "  but  why  did  you  bring  me  here  to  tell 
me  this?" 

"  Now,  then,"  was  the  quick  reply,  "  don't  bother 
with  4  The  Last  Judgment,'  which,  as  Malvolio 
would  say,  c  is  as  dark  as  ignorance,  and  ignorance 
is  as  dark  as  Hell ; '  but  just  come  over  here 
and  look  at  Adam,  as  long  as  your  neck  will  stand 
it.  If  Adam  does  n't  reveal  his  creator  to  you,  I 
can't." 

So  he  left  her  for  ten  minutes  to  look  at  Adam, 
while  he  himself  dallied  a  little  with  the  Sibyls 
and  Prophets.  When  she  had  finished  and  came 
towards  him,  he  said :  "  There,  now  let  us  go  and 
wander  in  St.  Peter's  for  a  little.  When  you  have 
digested  Adam,  you  can  come  again.  But  he  con 
verted  you,  did  n't  he  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  he  converted  me." 

"  Ah,  I  thought  he  would,"  with  a  contented 
smile.  "  Why  was  n't  I  engaged  to  tutor  you  in 
stead  of  the  other  ?  " 

They  made  their  way  back  down  the  Scala  Regia 
and  out  into  the  piazza.  Priscilla  wondered  some 
what  at  having  been  given  such  a  very  brief  lesson. 
Her  companion  divined  the  feeling.  "  You  don't  see 
why  I  let  you  go  so  soon,  do  you  ?  I  have  learned 
by  long  experience  that  with  pictures,  as  with  other 
things,  it  is  better  to  leave  the  table  while  one  is 
still  hungry.  And  then,  with  these  conversions,  you 
know,  the  best  way  is  to  drop  one  little  seed  and 
let  it  work  silently.  And  then,  I  did  n't  feel  like 


A   CONVERSION  171 

the  Sistine  Chapel  to-day  myself  and  I  did  feel  like 
St.  Peter's.  Are  these  reasons  ?  " 

"  They  are.  The  latter  especially.  But  I  did  n't 
require  them.  When  I  take  a  guide,  I  give  myself 
up  to  him." 

"  If  only  others  would  imitate  your  trusting  dis 
position,"  was  the  fervent  reply. 

Inside  the  great  church  there  was  the  same  quiet, 
the  same  vast  solitude  as  always.  Gordon  led  his 
companion  slowly  up  the  south  aisle.  Here  and 
there  they  passed  the  bowed  back  of  a  peasant  wo 
man  telling  her  beads,  or  a  priest,  blue-cheeked 
from  the  shaving  of  his  heavy  beard,  low-browed 
and  muscular.  The  great  marble  slabs  echoed 
under  their  feet. 

"  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know  why,  but  I  love  this 
church  better  than  any  hi  the  world,"  said  Gordon. 
"  When  I  came  back  to  Rome,  it  was  the  first  place 
I  wanted  to  see.  It  is  perfectly  absurd  to  feel  so, 
I  am  well  aware.  The  building  is  ugly,  rococo, 
anything  you  please.  There  is  no  design  in  it  — 
or  too  many  designs.  But  it  is  large,  that  is  it,  large, 
large  enough  to  hold  me.  Not  many  churches  will 
do  that." 

"  No  ?  "  said  Priscilla  quietly.  "  I  should  have 
thought "  — 

"  Oh,  yes,  make  fun  of  me,  of  course.  I  expected 
it.  But  most  churches  cramp  me,  cut  me  off  from 
air  and  life  and  sunlight.  This  seems  a  world  of 
itself,  apart  from  the  other  world,  yet  calm  and 


172  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

warm  and  sunny.  Excuse  me  for  talking  seriously. 
I  don't  do  it  often.  I  don't  often  think  seriously." 

u  Then  you  are  paying  me  a  great  compliment." 
She  spoke  with  that  peculiar  air  of  simple  compre 
hension,  of  open  serenity,  which  Gordon  found  so 
comfortable,  there  is  no  other  word  for  it.  "  Do 
you  know,  there  is  something  about  you  very  much 
like  the  church,"  he  said. 

"  Ah !  another  compliment.  But  I  don't  want  to 
make  you  feel  too  serious." 

"  No,  no,  you  can't  do  that.  You  make  me  feel 
just  quiet,  and  very,  very  comfortable.  Things  have 
been  annoying  me  lately  and  I  don't  often  let  them 
do  so." 

They  were  silent  again,  and  continued  wandering 
idly  about,  now  turning  into  a  side  chapel,  itself 
larger  than  many  a  home  church,  now  gazing  up 
into  the  soaring  vastness  of  the  dome,  now  gazing 
down  into  the  dim  sanctity  of  the  crypt.  They  stood 
for  a  long  time  near  the  statue  of  St.  Peter,  Jupi 
ter  that  was,  watching  the  osculations  of  his  time- 
worn  toe.  First  there  came  a  stout  contadina,  with 
stolid,  brown  face,  and  silver  coins  jingling  about 
her  head ;  then  a  lady,  fashionably  dressed  in  the 
very  deepest  mourning,  who  raised  her  long  veil 
slowly  and  dropped  it  afterwards  with  a  passionate 
sob ;  then  a  girl,  twelve  years  old,  perhaps,  who 
lifted  her  little  baby  sister  up  to  kiss  the  foot  and 
laughed  when  the  child  shrank  from  the  cold 
bronze. 


A   CONVERSION  173 

"  How  the  smirking  misses  in  our  Unitarian  Sun 
day-schools  at  home  would  laugh  at  this,"  said 
Gordon. 

"  Some  of  them,  perhaps,"  Priscilla  assented. 
"  For  my  part,  I  should  rather  like  to  perform  the 
ceremony  myself ;  yet,  when  I  think  of  some  of  the 
others  "  — 

Gordon  laughed.  "  The  Catholic  Church  is  the 
only  true  democracy ;  and  the  aristocracy  of  refined 
taste  which  we  are  developing  in  America  is  the 
most  snobbish  and  exclusive  of  all.  It  is  because 
so  many  people  have  kissed  that  toe  that  you  want 
to  do  it,  and  yet  you  don't  want  to  for  precisely 
the  same  reason." 

It  was  long  after  noon,  long  after  luncheon  time, 
when  Priscilla  got  back  to  the  hotel ;  and  as  soon 
as  she  was  quiet  and  had  a  chance  to  think,  she 
wondered  why  it  was  that  sight-seeing  had  assumed 
a  new  freshness  and  charm  since  she  came  to  Rome. 
Yes,  it  was  certainly  a  great  thing  to  have  a  guide 
like  Mr.  Gordon,  who  had  n't  learned  it  all  out  of 
books,  but  just  gave  you  his  own  feelings  and  ex 
periences.  "  Gordon."  It  was  a  very  pretty  name. 
Then  she  fell  to  wondering  where  he  might  take 
her  next. 

As  for  Gordon  himself,  the  morning  had  been 
delightful.  But  why  should  she,  even  in  fun,  sug 
gest  the  possibility  of  such  a  thing  as  marrying 
Edgar,  after  all  ?  If  it  were  possible,  it  would  be  a 
solution  of  his  own  difficulties.  He  certainly  would 


174  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

do  all  he  could  to  help  it  on.  And  yet  —  and  yet 
—  it  would  be  such  an  awful  shame  !  That  he  him 
self  was  getting  to  care  about  Priscilla  in  any  special 
way,  did  not  occur  to  him  even  now,  which  proves, 
I  think,  that  he  was  not  of  an  analytical  disposi 
tion. 


CHAPTER  XV 
THE  SONG  OF   THE   SIREN 

AFTER  such  a  delightful  morning,  Gordon  could 
not  make  up  his  mind  to  do  anything  disagreeable 
in  the  afternoon.  He  would  certainly  speak  to 
Edgar  the  next  day  and  have  it  out  with  him. 

In  the  evening,  as  he  was  sitting  in  his  room 
with  his  pipe  and  a  book,  there  was  a  knock  at  the 
door,  and  Edgar  entered.  He  looked  unusually 
cheerful,  so  much  so  that  Gordon  feared  the  Coun 
tess  had  already  smiled  upon  him  to  a  dangerous 
extent. 

"  Hullo,  Gordy  !  "  he  said.  "  Have  n't  seen  much 
of  you  lately,  old  man.  Thought  I  'd  come  in  and 
have  a  puff  with  you." 

"  That 's  right,"  replied  Gordon,  as  cordially  as 
possible.  "  Sit  down  and  make  yourself  at  home." 

The  invitation  was  accepted,  and  the  two  smoked 
away  for  a  few  minutes  in  silence.  Gordon  was 
thinking.  Was  it  best  to  refer  to  the  Countess  at 
all?  Finally  he  spoke.  "At  the  Countess's  this 
afternoon,  as  usual,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  was  there,  but  she  was  out  as  usual.  I 
say,  Gordy,  women  are  queer  ducks,  are  n't  they  ?  " 

"  It  is  generally  agreed  that  they  are  —  by  men," 


176  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

Gordon  assented.  Then  he  went  on  thinking.  What 
did  it  mean  ?  Was  Edgar  getting  discouraged  ? 
Did  this  unusual  cheerf  ulness  imply  disgust  at  the 
wily  ways  of  women  and  satisfaction  at  an  escape  ? 
Had  Antonia  changed  her  mind  and  given  up  her 
grip?  Had  she?  It  was  very  improbable.  He 
would  like  much  to  find  out. 

He  tried  to  find  out  in  various  ways,  and  with  a 
certain  ingenuity;  but  Edgar,  though  continuing 
most  amiable,  absolutely  refused  to  discuss  the  sub 
ject.  He  would  and  did  talk  of  the  Stantons,  of 
Mrs.  Barton's  last  reception,  of  the  stock  market 
and  his  own  ventures  therein,  and  of  his  father ; 
but  as  to  the  Countess  Markovski  he  would  utter 
never  a  word.  Gordon  at  length  gave  it  up,  and 
listened  in  silence  to  an  elaborate  scheme  for  mak 
ing  a  neat  little  thing  by  the  Rosabella  lead  mine, 
in  which  Edgar  was  thinking  of  embarking  all  the 
capital  he  could  muster.  The  general  impression 
left  on  the  tutor's  mind  was,  however,  that  the 
Countess's  influence  was  decidedly  on  the  decline. 
In  view  of  this,  he  was  willing  to  doze  gently, 
while  lead,  lead,  lead  murmured  in  his  ears,  and  a 
fair  vision  of  blue  eyes  and  light  hair  wreathed 
itself  poetically  among  the  clouds  of  smoke. 

What  would  he  have  said,  if  he  could  have 
perused  the  little  note  which,  received  by  Edgar 
late  that  afternoon,  accounted  for  his  extraordi 
nary  amiability  and  sociability,  and  which  he  read 
and  re-read  before  he  went  to  sleep,  with  an  ardor 


THE   SONG  OF   THE   SIREN  177 

almost  as  enthusiastic  as  he  would  have  bestowed 
on  the  ticker  in  a  panic  ?  "  Dear  Friend,"  it  said, 
"  such  an  unhappy  fatality  has  prevented  your  find 
ing  me  at  home  lately,  that  I  begin  to  be  afraid 
you  may  think  I  am  intentionally  avoiding  you. 
Do  not  believe  it.  I  never  run  away  from  my  ene 
mies,  certainly  not  from  my  friends,  and  I  begin 
to  count  you  among  the  latter.  May  I?  If  so, 
come  to-morrow  afternoon  and  take  a  good  long 
drive  with  me,  not  in  the  Park,  but  way  out  in  the 
wide  Campagna,  where  we  can  be  alone  together 
and  talk.  I  will  look  for  you  by  three  o'clock. 
Will  you  come  ?  " 

Would  he  come !  Would  he  buy  Sugar  Preferred 
when  it  was  twenty-five  points  off  ?  Why,  this  was 
just  what  he  had  been  waiting  for.  Abstinence  had 
made  him  deliciously  hungry  for  those  confiding 
eyes  and  that  suave  and  subtle  flattery  which  he 
had  not  met  in  a  woman  before.  Would  he  come ! 

He  came.  He  was  a  few  minutes  early,  but  the 
Countess  was  expecting  him  in  her  drawing-room. 
She  rang  for  the  carriage,  and  gave  Edgar  the 
pleasure  of  throwing  her  furred  cloak  around  her. 
For  just  two  seconds  she  allowed  his  arms  to  re 
main  about  her  neck.  Then  she  drew  away,  turned, 
and  looked  him  in  the  eyes  for  two  seconds  longer. 
As  he  followed  her  down  the  stairs,  she  laughed 
and  jested,  and  seemed  altogether  in  a  wonderfully 
light  and  merry  mood.  "  Is  n't  it  fun,"  she  said, 
"  our  starting  off  together  this  way,  just  like  two 


178  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

children  out  of  school.  I  have  been  so  bored  lately 
with  business  affairs  and  family  affairs  —  that 's 
why  you  have  n't  seen  anything  of  me.  But  now 
it 's  all  over,  and  I  'm  free  to  amuse  myself  just  as 
I  please,  and  I  should  like  to  throw  something  up 
in  the  air ;'  only  there  's  an  old  Englishwoman  over 
the  way,  whom  I  'm  always  scandalizing.  Do  I  scan 
dalize  you?  "  she  added,  turning  sharply,  as  he  was 
helping  her  into  the  carriage.  Then,  seeing  him 
glance  towards  the  sedate  footman  standing  beside 
them,  "  Italian,  both  he  and  the  coachman.  They 
can't  understand  a  word  we  say." 

When  they  had  settled  themselves  comfortably 
among  the  black  cushions  and  were  driving  off,  she 
still  chattered.  "  Oh,  I  know,  I  am  talking  to-day. 
You  have  n't  said  a  word  yet.  But  you  shall.  I 
am  like  a  bottle  of  champagne  just  opened ;  the 
foam  and  froth  fly  every  way  at  first.  Let  me  settle 
a  moment,  and  then  you  may  taste  me  quietly,  if 
you  will." 

He  looked  as  if  a  very  little  taste  would  unsettle 
his  senses  forever.  What  was  there  so  bewitching 
about  her  ?  He  did  not  care  to  investigate  the  pro 
blem,  but  just  leaned  back  and  gazed  and  listened. 

"  Yes,"  she  went  on,  "  you  think  I  am  a  child. 
And  I  am  —  and  always  shall  be,  till  my  gray  hairs 
are  brought  with  sorrow  to  the  grave.  When  any 
thing  frets  me,  I  cry.  When  anything  tickles  me, 
I  laugh.  When  nothing  tickles  me,  I  laugh  —  if  I 
feel  like  laughing.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  life  had 


THE   SONG  OF  THE   SIREN  179 

two  masks  —  one  hideous,  ugly,  and  full  of  horror, 
one  full  of  endless,  ceaseless  mirth,  meaningless 
mirth,  it  may  be.  Who  cares?  Which  is  the  real 
face  of  life  ?  Is  it  either  ?  What  is  life,  anyway  ?  " 

She  turned  sharp  and  short  on  her  companion, 
who  was  not  prepared  with  a  reply,  and  had  prob 
ably  never  considered  the  question. 

"  You  don't  know,"  she  resumed.  "  Neither  do 
I.  Life  to  me  is  instinctive  movement,  flowing, 
shifting,  changing,  the  lines  of  sorrow  melting  im 
perceptibly  into  joy,  and  those  of  joy  as  quickly 
shifting  back.  To  be  still  is  death.  To  stop  and 
think  is  death.  To  be  anything  but  one's  self  of 
the  moment  is  death.  And  yet  one  has  to  pretend 
and  calculate  and  simulate  —  do  you  wish  me  to 
do  all  these  things  for  you  ?  " 

Edgar  made  no  attempt  to  answer.  He  was  per 
fectly  content  to  sit  and  look  at  the  quick,  mobile 
face,  which  seemed  the  exact  embodiment  of  the 
view  of  life  she  was  expressing,  and  which  the  cold 
air  was  tinting  with  a  delicate  glow. 

"  I  bore  you,"  she  said.  "  I  bore  myself  too. 
Sometimes  I  think  I  am  not  quite  right  here." 
She  tapped  her  forehead. 

They  were  both  silent  for  a  while.  Their  route 
had  been  at  first  through  the  blank  and  character 
less  new  quarter  of  the  city,  Via  Buoncompagni, 
Via  Polia,  by  the  Porta  Pia,  into  an  even  more 
blank  and  cheerless  region  beyond.  But  as  they 
passed  through  the  dull,  flat,  modern  buildings, 


180  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

and  came  into  the  more  open  country  towards 
Sant'  Agnese,  the  loveliest  of  landscapes  broke 
upon  them.  It  was  a  mild  afternoon  for  the  sea 
son,  clear,  bright,  and  windless.  Near  at  hand,  the 
fields  were  broken  by  the  plough,  rough,  brown, 
the  moisture  gleaming  in  the  western  light.  A 
little  further  came  a  rich  purple,  lying  heavy  in 
the  hollows  among  the  barren  sweeps  of  the  Cam- 
pagna.  Beyond  that,  a  deep,  dark  blue  marked  the 
lower  slopes  of  the  Apennines.  And  above  all  rose 
the  snowy  peaks,  glorious  with  sunlight,  cut  sharp 
against  the  azure  of  the  sky. 

"  Oh,  this  is  beautiful,  isn't  it?"  the  Countess 
cried,  sitting  up  and  gazing  with  the  natural  frank 
ness  of  all  her  emotions. 

"How?  What?"  said  Edgar,  staring  about 
him.  "I  don't  see  anything.  More  tombs  and 
ruins,  I  suppose." 

"  Not  a  ruin  just  at  present,"  was  the  caustic 
answer  ;  and  with  it  went  a  little  curl  of  the  upper 
lip,  which  Edgar  missed  in  his  effort  to  seize  the 
proper  object  of  admiration.  "  I  was  enjoying  na 
ture,"  the  Countess  went  on  ;  "  that  is  one  of  the 
freaks  of  childishness  that  remain  in  me." 

"  Oh,  nature.  Well,  I  'm  not  much  on  nature, 
never  was.  I  've  seen  all  I  want  of  it  out  west." 

"  To  be  sure.  It  is  only  the  sophisticated  who 
like  landscapes  and  made  dishes." 

Then,  as  they  came  up  to  Sant'  Agnese,  she 
said :  "  You  know  we  were  speaking  of  Catacombs 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  SIREN  181 

the  other  day.  There  are  some  here.  Let  us  have 
a  look  at  them.  Perhaps  they  will  please  you  bet 
ter  than  sunlight  and  white  mountains." 

"  I  don't  care  much  for  either.  But  I  '11  do  what 
you  do."  Indeed,  the  humorous  lady  had  already 
stopped  the  carriage  and  was  descending,  with  little 
regard  to  whether  he  cared  for  Catacombs  or  not. 

She  made  her  way  noiselessly  into  the  old 
church,  followed  by  Edgar's  clumsy  and  shambling 
figure.  Without  stopping  to  look  at  the  frescoes, 
or  even  giving  a  thought  to  the  Basilica,  with  its 
mosaics,  she  went  to  the  entrance  of  the  Catacombs 
and  found  the  old  priest,  garrulous,  as  usual,  in 
broken  English,  his  hands  full  of  serpentine  wax 
tapers.  Then  they  made  their  way  down  into  the 
narrow  passages,  smoky  chapels,  dim,  earthy,  cav 
ernous  cells,  leaving  the  glory  of  the  winter  after 
noon  far,  far  behind  them. 

"  Ah,  I  like  these  contrasts,"  whispered  the 
Countess  to  Edgar. 

"Do  you?    I  don't." 

She  laughed  a  little  silvery  laugh,  which  echoed 
dully  in  the  earthen  passages,  like  water  flowing 
far  away,  and  made  the  old  priest  turn  round  and 
give  her  a  queer  glance  ;  but  without  noticing  him, 
she  said  to  Edgar :  "  You  know  the  blessed  saints 
used  to  wander  through  here  and  kneel  in  these 
little  chapels  and  pray  and  tremble,  when  the  tor 
mentors  were  speeding  after  them.  These  are  their 
bones."  She  crossed  herself  with  a  deep  solemnity, 


182  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

which  appeased  the  old  priest,  and  may  have  been 
real  and  may  not. 

"  Oh,  hang  the  blessed  saints !  "  said  Edgar,  in 
a  rather  nervous  undertone.  "  Did  you  ever  hear 
of  a  saint  like  John  P.  Morgan  ?  " 

"No,"  agreed  the  Countess  thoughtfully;  "I 
never  did." 

"  Well,  then,"  continued  the  irreverent  youth, 
"  let 's  get  out  of  here  and  let  their  bones  rot. 
I  've  no  use  for  'em." 

But  the  Countess  changed  her  manner  and 
stopped  tormenting  him.  Taking  him  by  the  arm, 
she  slipped  along  quietly  after  the  guide,  who  had 
dropped  his  tedious  narrative,  somewhat  disturbed 
by  his  visitors'  indifference.  "  Ah !  "  she  sighed, 
"  but  this  is  a  tranquil  region,  tranquil,  and  calm 
with  the  oblivion  of  centuries.  Don't  you  think 
there  would  be  a  pleasure  in  wandering  here  with 
one  you  loved,  just  alone  with  love,  that  one  thing 
great  and  firm  and  solid  in  an  endless  realm  of 
fleeting  shadows  ?  And  you  would  whisper  those 
little  keen  whispers  which  drop  like  sparks  of  fire 
on  the  cold,  salt  ocean  of  the  world.  And  the  harsh 
echoes  of  the  upper  life  would  be  shut  away.  But 
then  you  don't  love  any  one  —  and  all  this  sounds 
a  little  impractical,  does  n't  it  ?  " 

Then  she  drew  her  arm  away,  and  it  almost 
seemed  to  his  poor,  tangled,  unromantic  apprehen 
sion  that  some  spirit  of  the  place  had  been  mur 
muring  in  his  ear.  But  the  old  priest,  unable  to 


THE   SONG  OF   THE   SIREN  183 

contain  himself  any  longer,  began  to  mumble  vague 
legends  of  a  misty  past,  and  the  Countess,  impa 
tient,  cut  short  the  excursion  and  made  her  way 
back  to  the  church. 

"  Well,"  she  inquired,  as  the  carriage  drove  off, 
"  how  do  you  like  the  Catacombs  ?  "  looking  at  him 
with  as  coolly  practical  an  air  as  if  she  had  asked 
him  how  he  liked  the  soup. 

"  I  liked  what  you  said  to  me,"  he  whispered. 
"  Say  it  again." 

"  I  am  not  like  history,"  she  answered,  with  a 
cold,  clear,  indifferent  laugh.  "  And  how  very  rude 
you  were  to  the  blessed  saints.  But  now  don't  you 
appreciate  the  winter  air  and  the  sunshine  and  the 
snow-mountains  ?  "  As  Edgar  involuntarily  drew  a 
long  breath,  she  added,  "  I  thought  so.  The  little 
visit  really  paid,  did  n't  it  ?  " 

They  were  driving  down  the  hill,  where  the  road 
falls  off  beyond  Sant'  Agnese  to  the  Teverino  and 
crosses  it  by  the  Ponte  Nomentano.  Far  away  to 
the  north,  Soracte  rose  clear  and  solemn,  with  its 
crown  of  snow. 

But  after  looking  about  her  for  a  moment,  the 
Countess  dismissed  the  subject  of  nature  and 
turned  to  more  personal  matters.  "  Well,  is  the 
day  named  yet  ?  "  she  asked. 

Edgar's  brows  contracted  more  than  usual,  as  he 
said  crossly  :  "  Don't  begin  on  that.  Have  n't  I  told 
you  before  that  that  wax  doll  is  nothing  to  me  ?  " 

"Really?" 


184  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

"Yes,  really,  and  you  know  it.  What  do  you 
suppose  I  come  riding  and  running  after  you  for, 
if  I  care  anything  about  her  ?  " 

Without  making  a  direct  response  to  this  the 
Countess  smiled  and  said :  "  Do  you  know  who 
does  care  about  her  ?  " 

"  No,  and  I  don't  want  to."  But  there  was  a  bit 
of  curiosity  in  the  tone.  We  can  give  just  a  half- 
glance  to  see  who  picks  up  even  an  old  wax  doll, 
when  we  have  thrown  it  away.  Perhaps  we  should 
rather  prefer  that  no  one  picked  it  up  at  all. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  do.  It  is  amusing,  I  think,  that 
your  tutor  should  step  in  and  snap  up  the  tidbit 
that  was  meant  for  you." 

"  My  tutor  ?  Gordy  ?  "  Edgar  was  quite  awake 
now.  "  Nonsense  !  You  don't  mean  it." 

"  Have  you  seen  the  two  together  ?  " 

"No."  " 

"Then  you  ought.  I  met  them  driving  —  all 
alone.  Oh,  this  American  innocence  !  —  in  the 
Pincian  the  other  afternoon.  If  you  could  have 
seen  her  look  at  him." 

"  Say,  that 's  a  little  too  much,  you  know.  Of 
all  the  impudent  rascals  "  — 

"  You  don't  approve,  then?"  the  Countess  asked, 
with  delicious  soberness  of  interrogation,  as  if  the 
subtlety  of  the  American  mind  was  beyond  her. 

"  Approve,  no !  Why,  that  Gordon,  he  's  no 
thing  but  a  beggar  living  on  my  father's  charity. 
He  never  had  a  dollar  in  his  life." 


THE   SONG  OF  THE   SIREN  185 

"But  for  a  wax  doll?" 

"Oh,  well,  yes,  what  do  I  care  ?  But  I  do  just  the 
same.  I  '11  put  a  spoke  in  his  wheel.  What  '11  the 
old  man  say  ?  Both  the  old  men  ?  To  try  to  come 
sneaking  into  my  shoes,  just  because  I  won't  wear 
'em  myself  !  Huh  !  " 

"  Mr.  Gordon  seems  to  be  a  very  seductive 
person,"  suggested  the  Countess,  with  an  air  of 
deep  musing. 

"  Seductive !  You  may  say  so.  What  makes  the 
women  run  after  him  the  way  they  do  ?  I  'm  shot 
if  I  can  see.  He  never  did  anything  in  his  life. 
But  he  wags  his  tongue,  and  says  smart  things, 
and  pours  on  oil  by  the  dipperful  —  and  then  he  '11 
talk  you  down  behind  your  back." 

"  Does  he  talk  me  down  ?  "  Antonia  inquired 
indifferently,  with  the  air  of  being  merely  inter 
ested  in  a  bright-eyed  peasant  girl,  who  was  hold 
ing  up  some  figs  to  sell. 

Edgar  reflected  a  moment.  "  Don't  know  as  he 
does.  He  does  n't  mention  you  except  when  I  do." 
Then  he  reflected  a  little  longer.  "  That  's  queer 
too,  come  to  think  of  it." 

"  Because  everybody  else  does  run  me  down, 
don't  they  ?  Come  now,  child,  speak  the  truth. 
What  do  you  hear  people  say  about  me  ?  " 

"Oh,  not  much  anyway,"  Edgar  began,  embar 
rassed  to  an  extent  altogether  unusual  with  him. 
"  I  know  lies  when  I  hear  them  well  enough." 

"  Then  you  do   hear   lies  about   me,  do  you  ? 


186  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

Such  as  what  ?  "  Her  manner  was  a  bit  dry,  a  bit 
cold. 

"  Well,  they  say  you  are  the  most  fascinating 
woman  in  Rome." 

"  And  that  is  a  lie  ?  Oh,  my  friend,  how  com 
forting  you  are."  She  laughed ;  but  the  laugh  was 
hard  too. 

"  I  say,  don't  be  so  sharp,  you  know."  Then, 
irritation  restoring  his  natural  bluntness,  "  Why 
should  I  tell  you  what  they  say,  when  you  know  as 
well  as  I  do  ?  They  say  there  never  was  any  Count 
Markovski,  they  say  you  have  had  —  a  good  many 
lovers,  they  say  you  never  loved  any  one  yourself. 
What  do  we  care  what  they  say  ?  "  He  made  a 
desperate  effort  to  take  her  hand  under  the  thick 
robe.  But  she  drew  away  from  him. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  she  replied,  in  the  same  cold, 
balanced  voice.  "  Of  course  this  is  all  lies,  with  a 
certain  admixture  of  truth,  such  as  there  is  in  all 
lies  that  are  worth  telling.  With  regard  to  any 
attractive  woman  there  are  only  three  classes  of 
men :  those  who  have  been  in  love  with  her,  those 
who  are  in  love  with  her,  and  those  who  would  be 
in  love  with  her  if  they  dared.  The  first  abuse 
her  from  —  gratitude,  the  second  from  jealousy,  the 
third  from  a  general  feeling  that  the  grapes  are 
sour.  As  to  women,  there  is  only  one  class,  and 
they  abuse  her  from  the  word  go.  It  makes  no 
difference  what  she  does.  Is  she  reserved  ?  She  is 
haughty.  Is  she  frank?  She  is  bold.  Is  she 


THE   SONG   OF   THE   SIREN  187 

modest  ?  She  is  cunning.  Is  she  gay  ?  She  is 
wanton.  Does  she  come  to  grief?  It  is  her  own 
fault.  She  brought  it  on  herself." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  The  slant  light 
of  the  descending  sun  spread  a  purple  splendor  on 
the  eastern  hills.  Nothing  was  to  be  heard  but  the 
even  tramp  of  the  horse's  feet.  Edgar  made  an 
other  effort  to  possess  himself  of  the  hand  and 
succeeded.  Perhaps  its  owner  was  scarcely  aware 
of  the  fact;  for  she  seemed  to  be  absorbed  in 
thought. 

When  she  spoke  again,  her  voice  was  gentler, 
and  her  speech  ran  on  in  a  smooth,  quiet,  almost 
monotonous  current :  "  My  friend,  I  should  like 
you  to  know  the  real  truth  about  myself  and  about 
my  life.  That  was  why  I  brought  you  out  here  to 
day  into  the  desert,  where  we  can  be  alone.  Do 
you  care  to  listen  ?  " 

A  warmer  pressure  of  her  hand  was  all  the  re 
sponse  that  was  required. 

"  Very  well,"  she  went  on.  "  The  story  is  simple 
enough,  and  common  enough,  and  dreary  enough,  as 
most  life  stories  are.  I  am  a  vagrant  and  a  wan 
derer,  without  family  or  friends,  or  any  one  who 
cares  whether  I  am  alive  or  dead.  I  have  a  home, 
to  be  sure,  a  sort  of  one,  a  strange  old  castle  far 
away  in  Poland,  which  my  husband  left  me ;  but 
it  is  more  dreary  even  than  Rome,  even  than  I.  I 
will  never  go  there  again,  if  I  can  help  it.  You 
look  a  little  relieved  to  hear  that  I  had  a  hus- 


188  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

band.  Oh,  yes,  I  know  people  do  not  believe  it. 
They  have  disputed  about  his  existence  as  they  do 
about  the  existence  of  the  Deity  —  and  to  as  little 
purpose.  He  was  rather  a  nonentity  in  my  life, 
but  he  did  exist,  —  quoique  si  pen.  I  bore  you, 
don't  I?" 

"Not  much!  I'd  rather  hear  you  —  and  see 
you  —  than  a  variety  show."  The  hand  was  pressed 
again  —  and  responded  a  little. 

"You  are  so  good  to  me,"  she  said,  a  phrase 
which  has  probably  tickled  as  many  masculine  van 
ities  as  any  other  since  the  world  began.  "  Well  — 
to  resume.  My  father  was  a  Polish  gentleman  — 
poor,  like  all  his  nation.  My  mother  was  an  Eng 
lishwoman;  but  she  died  when  I  was  five  years 
old,  and  I  hardly  remember  her.  After  her  death, 
I  lived  in  the  country  with  an  old  aunt,  who  did 
little  but  scold  the  servants  and  pray  to  the  saints. 
How  weary  I  got  of  both !  My  life  during  those 
years  was  blank  —  yes,  blanker  than  it  is  now. 
Then,  when  I  was  seventeen,  my  father  sold  me  — 
that  is  the  real  word  —  to  my  late  husband.  But 
I  was  contented  enough.  I  would  have  married  the 
devil  to  escape  from  where  I  was.  To  be  sure,  I 
was  not  much  better  off.  But  at  least,  in  my  new 
home,  I  could  scold  the  servants  myself.  And  my 
husband  was  good  to  me,  petted  and  made  much 
of  me,  had  me  taught  so  many  things  which  I  am 
glad  to  know.  Then  he  died." 

She  was  silent  again.    They  had  turned  about 


THE   SONG  OF  THE  SIREN  189 

now  and  were  facing  towards  the  city.  The  sun 
was  just  reaching  the  horizon.  The  air  was  clear 
and  quiet.  The  carriage  moved  steadily. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Edgar,  at  length,  "  you  Ve  just 
begun,  you  know." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  I  have  just  begun,  yet 
what  more  is  there  worth  telling.  I  was  young,  I 
was  not  unpleasant  to  look  at,  I  knew  no  more  of 
life  than  a  child,  and  oh,  I  was  hungry  and  thirsty 
for  it.  I  wanted  to  live,  to  use  the  new  strength  of 
my  soul  now  that  I  was  free,  to  live,  to  enjoy,  to 
drain  the  rose-red  cup  of  the  beauty  of  the  world. 
I  have  drained  it  —  and  it  is  bitter,  bitter,  bitter. 
I  trusted  women  —  and  half  of  them  laughed  at 
me,  the  other  half  caressed  me  —  and  betrayed  me. 
I  want  no  more  of  women.  I  trusted  men.  Who 
would  think  it  ?  Yet  they  deserved  it  better  than 
the  women.  But  I  trust  no  one  any  more  —  no 
one.  Not  you,  any  more  than  the  others  "  —  this 
in  response  to  a  reproachful  pressure  of  the  hand 
—  "  not  you,  any  more  than  the  others."  But  she 
smiled  gently  and  sadly  as  she  said  it,  with  the 
smile  that  flatters  a  man  into  thinking  he  may  yet 
be  the  great  exception. 

Then,  after  another  moment's  silence,  she  added, 
"  So,  when  they  tell  you  stories  of  me,  you  may 
believe  what  you  like.  I  have  not  been  a  saint,  I 
do  not  pretend  it.  I  have  had  no  one  to  help  me, 
no  one  to  advise  me,  or  restrain  me.  But  in  all 
my  wanderings  I  have  sought  just  one  thing  — 


190  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

love,  love,  love,  such  as  we  read  about  in  books.  I 
have  found  out  that  it  exists  in  books  only." 

"Antonia,"  her  companion  began,  with  such 
passion  as  he  was  capable  of,  "  Antonia,  I "  — 

But  she  raised  her  finger  and  hushed  him  gently. 
"  No,  no,  child,"  she  said,  "  don't  be  foolish.  You 
don't  love  me.  I  forbid  you  to.  If  you  will  let  me 
be  an  older  sister  to  you  and  will  come  to  me  and 
tell  me  your  secrets,  perhaps  I  can  help  you  and 
comfort  you  sometimes.  I  have  talked  to  you  thus 
much  about  myself,  because  I  thought  your  friends 
—  Heaven  save  them  —  would  do  what  they  could 
to  keep  you  away  from  me.  And  I  want  you  —  I 
want  you.  Why  can't  they  leave  me  any  one  to 
love  in  peace  ?  " 

"  Confound  it !  "  Edgar  burst  out.  "  Who  will 
keep  me  from  you  ?  Let  'em  try.  There 's  no 
woman  like  you  in  the  world.  I  hate  women  just 
as  much  as  you  do.  They  're  all  dolls  and  pup 
pets,  silly  chatter,  and  clothes,  and  throwing  away 
money  on  nonsense.  But  you  're  different.  An 
tonia  —  Antonia  "  — 

He  continued  to  pour  forth  incoherent  protesta 
tions,  in  the  ecstasy  of  his  new-found  passion.  But 
he  said  no  word  about  marriage.  Seeing  this,  she 
gradually  quieted  him,  until,  by  the  time  they  had 
reached  her  door,  he  had  wandered  off  somehow 
into  an  elaborate  description  of  the  doings  of  the 
Boston  Exchange. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
A  TUTORED  SAVAGE 

THE  Countess  Antonia  Markovski  was  certainly 
as  wise  as  the  serpent,  though  any  similarity  to  the 
dove  might  have  been  difficult  to  trace  in  her.  She 
could  hardly  have  devised  a  narrative  more  adapted 
to  persuade  and  fascinate  Edgar  Payne  than  the 
vague  and  brief  one  with  which  she  had  favored 
him.  If  she  had  asserted  herself  to  be  an  injured 
innocent,  he  would  have  despised  her  and  gone  on 
his  way.  She  had  asserted  nothing  of  the  kind. 
She  had  denied  no  one  of  the  numerous  stories 
which  she  knew  he  might  have  heard  about  her. 
Only,  she  had  represented  everything  as  being  her 
misfortune  not  her  fault.  It  was  men,  those  dread 
ful  men,  who  had  done  all  the  mischief.  Deceived, 
imposed  upon,  betrayed,  deserted,  she  sought  refuge 
at  last  in  his  truth,  and  manliness,  and  devotion. 
In  other  words,  she  kept  all  the  charm  of  her  mis 
deeds  for  herself,  and  threw  the  guilt  of  them  upon 
other  people.  In  so  doing,  she  appealed  to  that 
most  subtle  and  colossal  element  of  masculine  van 
ity,  which  sometimes  goes  by  the  name  of  chivalry. 
Needless  to  say  she  was  completely  successful. 
Edgar  returned  to  his  lodgings  in  a  state  of  amor- 


192  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

ous  intoxication ;  and  as  he  was  eating  his  solitary 
dinner  in  a  cheap  cafe,  he  seasoned  the  dubious 
viands  with  infinite  brooding  on  each  detail  of  An- 
tonia's  speech,  with  the  vague  charm  of  some  fleet 
ing  gesture,  the  turn  of  her  head,  the  lifting  of  her 
finger.  He  had  never  seen  such  a  woman.  He  had 
never  troubled  himself  much  with  women  anyway. 
They  were  creatures  created  to  spend  money,  and 
so,  obviously  dangerous  to  those  whose  object  was 
to  make  it.  But  this  one  was  different.  She  might 
spend  money.  Oh,  yes,  she  probably  would.  But 
Edgar  had  no  real  dislike  to  spending  money,  if 
only  he  could  see  the  equivalent.  Besides,  he  was 
quickly  developing  a  superstition  —  so  fertile  is 
Eros  in  disguises  —  that  his  future,  his  success 
was  bound  up  in  Antonia.  Stock-gamblers,  like 
other  gamblers,  incline  inordinately  to  such  ideas. 
She  would  be  his  mascotte,  his  lucky-piece,  his 
rabbit-paw.  He  pictured  to  himself  long  evenings 
when  he  and  she  together  would  study  the  mystical 
financial  column,  and  she,  with  a  blind,  unerring 
instinct,  would  bid  him  buy  this  and  sell  that,  and 
hold  on  hard,  when  others  were  scared  and  letting 
go.  She  would  be  such  a  star  in  the  social  world 
also.  He  did  not  care  much  for  success  in  that  line  ; 
but  failure  annoyed  him,  as  it  does  every  one. 
Those  swells,  who  had  sniffed  at  him  when  he  was 
at  school,  Gordon  and  his  kind  —  they  would  n't 
sniff  when  he  had  a  woman  with  such  style  as  that 
to  keep  his  house. 


A  TUTORED  SAVAGE  193 

It  was  marriage,  then,  that  he  was  thinking  of, 
was  it?  H'm!  H'm !  Marriage?  And  his  father? 
His  father  would  certainly  have  given  millions 
to  have  seen  him  married  to  Priscilla  Stanton. 
But  would  he  disgorge  so  readily  when  it  was  a 
question  of  a  Polish  Countess,  who  had  been  un 
fortunate  and  owned  a  ruin  somewhere  at  the  end 
of  the  world?  It  was  very  doubtful.  And  love  in 
a  cottage,  or  in  the  aforesaid  Polish  ruin,  or  in  a 
South  End  flat,  with  four  rooms  and  a  general 
housework  girl —  To  be  sure,  the  Countess  ap 
peared  to  be  living  well  at  present ;  but  even  Edgar 
knew  enough  to  mistrust  such  appearances  as 
that.  It  was  very  possible  that  the  late  Markovski 
had  left  his  money  to  his  own  relatives,  in  case  of 
a  second  marriage.  And  there  were  other  possi 
bilities. 

No,  it  was  best  not  to  be  too  hasty.  He  would 
make  love  to  the  lady  as  assiduously  as  in  him  lay, 
but  he  would  not  mention  marriage  yet. 

Thus  thinking,  the  immense  desire  to  be  com 
municative,  so  peculiar  to  lovers  and  murderers, 
impelled  him  to  drop  into  Gordon's  room  and  have 
a  chat.  He  found  the  latter,  as  the  evening  before, 
sitting  comfortably  with  his  pipe  and  his  novel ; 
and  remembering  the  evening  before,  the  tutor  was 
disposed  to  receive  Edgar  rather  cordially,  having 
dismissed  matrimonial  anxieties,  to  some  extent, 
from  his  mind. 

"  Well,  how 's  lead  ?  "  he  began,  as  Edgar,  also 


194  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

provided  with  a  pipe,  sprawled  his  ungainly  length 
on  the  forlorn  sofa,  which  concentrated  all  the  dis 
comfort  of  the  uncomfortable  room. 

"  Lead  be  hanged !  "  was  the  cheerful  answer. 
Then,  after  wriggling  in  vain  annoyance  for  a  few 
moments,  the  young  man  added,  "  Oh,  I  say,  this 
sofa  's  too  bad,"  and  established  himself,  pipe  and 
all,  on  the  bed.  "  Lead  !  "  he  continued.  "  I  had 
a  cable  to-day.  Rosabella  's  busted.  Somebody  's 
got  left.  Glad  it  ain't  me." 

Gordon  puffed  along  at  his  leisure.  In  a  few  min 
utes  he  tried  again.  "  Had  a  pleasant  afternoon  ?  " 
he  ventured. 

This  was  the  chance  Edgar  had  been  waiting 
for.  Most  of  us  need  very  little  excuse  for  talking 
about  ourselves ;  but  almost  all  of  us  want  some. 
"  Great !  "  he  replied.  "  The  Countess  Markovski 
took  me  to  drive  in  the  Campagna." 

«  The  deuce  she  did  !    Boo  !  " 

"  Yes,  she  did.  Why  should  n't  she  ?  Don't  you 
wish  she  'd  take  you  ?  " 

Gordon  answered  nothing,  but  looked  at  the 
ceiling.  He  was  thinking.  His  pipe  went  out. 

Edgar  continued,  with  insolent  defiance  in  every 
tone  of  his  voice:  "You  want  to  have  'em  all 
to  yourself,  don't  you?  And  you  think  you  can. 
By  Jove,  you  may,  most  of  'em.  I  don't  want  any 
of  the  pie.  But  when  there  comes  along  a  woman 
like  that,  with  life  in  her  and  fire  in  her  —  Oh, 
Gordy,  would  n't  she  take  the  Avenue,  though  ? 


A  TUTORED  SAVAGE  195 

How  would  you  like  to  sit  in  a  box  at  the  Hollis 
Street  with  her  ?  I  believe  she  'd  make  money  too. 
They  've  got  an  awful  eye  to  business,  that  kind 
of  women." 

"  You  think  she's  in  love  with  you?"  Gordon 
asked,  with  the  mildest  air  of  interrogation. 

"  Confound  you !  You  think  no  woman  would 
ever  be  in  love  with  me,  don't  you?  "  Then,  exas 
perated  by  Gordon's  apologetic  gesture,  he  went 
on.  "  You  think  I  'm  ugly.  So  I  am.  And  awk 
ward.  So  I  am.  And  clumsy  —  no  manners  —  no 
style,  breeding,  as  you  call  it.  So  I  am.  But  I  tell 
you,  it  is  n't  the  fine  airs  that  do  the  trick.  What 
a  woman  that  is  a  woman  likes  nowadays  is  a 
man  that  gets  there.  And  I  am  a  man  that  gets 
there."  In  spite  of  the  absurd  egotism  of  the 
words,  something  in  his  tone  suggested  that,  after 
all,  perhaps  he  was. 

Gordon  still  sat  calm,  looking  almost  as  if  he 
were  thinking  of  something  else.  At  length  he 
began  very  quietly :  "  Edgar,  it  is  just  as  well  for 
us  to  talk  this  matter  over  a  little.  I  have  n't  said 
anything  hitherto  because  I  didn't  suppose  it 
would  do  any  good.  I  don't  suppose  it  will  now." 

"  Not  a  bit." 

"  No,  probably  not.  But  I  shall  say  it  all  the 
same.  Your  father  put  you  in  my  charge,  and  I 
am  responsible  for  your  conduct,  so  far  as  my  in 
fluence  will  go." 

"  It  is  n't  far,"  Edgar  murmured. 


196  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

But  Gordon  went  on,  without  paying  any  atten 
tion.  "  Your  father  is  a  man  of  the  world.  He 
would  be  the  last  person  to  object  to  your  meeting 
all  sorts  of  people  in  all  sorts  of  places.  A  man 
has  got  to  do  that  kind  of  thing.  But  when  it 
comes  to  an  intimate  association  with — with  such 
a  woman  as  the  Countess  Antonia  Markovski  "  — 

"What  about  the  Countess  Antonia  Markov- 
ski?"  shouted  Edgar,  sitting  upright,  and  letting 
his  pipe  also  go  out,  in  his  enthusiasm.  "  What 
about  her  ?  Tell  me  that.  Oh,  you  fellers  that 
run  down  everything  you  can't  afford  to  buy  your 
selves  !  I  've  seen  so  many  of  'em  on  the  street. 
Come  up  and  buttonhole  you  in  a  corner  —  '  Say, 
Payne,  you  are  n't  going  into  that  Dun  stable  and 
Baxter  Electric,  are  you  ?  It 's  the  meanest  thing 
you  ever  struck  in  your  life.  There  ain't  a  dollar 
behind  it,  not  a  dollar.  The  General  Electric  is 
down  on  'em.  The  legislature  's  down  on  'em.  The 
Railroad  Commissioners  are  down  on  'em.  You  '11 
lose  every  cent  you  put  in  it.'  By  Jove !  When 
some  fellers  talk  to  me  like  that,  I  hustle  and 
scrape  up  everything  I  can  and  dump  it  all  into 
the  Dunstable  and  Baxter  Electric,  the  first  chance 
I  get." 

"  Your  wisdom  is  beyond  your  years,"  was  Gor 
don's  peaceful  comment.  He  had  lighted  his  pipe 
again.  "  I  hope  you  '11  grow  to  it.  And  I  'm  sure 
the  analogy  between  the  fair  Antonia  and  an  elec 
tric  road  is  brilliant  and  striking.  But  just  let  me 


A  TUTORED   SAVAGE  197 

say  my  say.  You  're  not  obliged  to  follow  my  ad 
vice,  you  know." 

"  I  know  it  well  enough.  Talk  away.  I  can 
think  about  something  else."  Edgar,  too,  relit  his 
pipe,  and  tried  to  appear  as  if  he  were  thinking  of 
something  else  ;  but  his  sudden  and  irascible  jerks 
from  one  position  to  another  made  it  evident  where 
his  attention  was. 

Gordon  spoke  slowly,  weighing  his  words  ;  and 
though  he  was  calm  enough  in  appearance,  any 
one  who  observed  him  closely  might  have  seen  that 
he  was  not  comfortable.  "I  have  been  in  Rome 
before  and  I  have  seen  the  Countess  Markovski 
before  —  in  other  places.  She  is  an  adventuress  of 
the  very  worst  order,  because  she  is  at  least  half 
sincere  in  what  she  does.  I  could  tell  you  the 
names  of  the  men  whose  lives  she  has  wrecked  — 
some  by  drinking,  some  by  gambling,  some  by 
their  own  pistol  bullets  and  some  by  others'.  She 
does  not  care.  She  is  absolutely  reckless.  She  is 
simply  ignorant  of  what  the  word  conscience  means. 
She  will  put  you  on  and  wear  you  and  take  you  off 
and  crumple  you  up  and  throw  you  away  and  for 
get  you,  like  an  old  glove.  She  "  — 

He  had  been  speaking  faster  and  with  increas 
ing  passion  up  to  this  point.  Then  he  pulled  him 
self  in  suddenly  and  hesitated.  Before  he  could 
resume,  Edgar  interrupted  him,  but  with  a  calm 
ness  which  rather  astonished  Gordon.  "  That  '11 
do,  Gordy,  you  know.  You've  done  it  mighty 


198  THE  PRIVATE   TUTOR 

well,  almost  as  if  you  'd  been  jilted  yourself,  hey  ? 
If  I  did  n't  know  there  was  nothing  but  milk  and 
water  to  you,  I  might  be  jealous,  old  boy.  But  I 
see  right  through  it  all.  Such  an  awful  put-up 
job.  So  easy  to  find  a  pack  of  lies  like  that,  when 
a  man  has  any  use  for  'em.  And  what  should 
you  say  if  she  'd  told  me  all  about  herself  already, 
a  good  deal  more  than  you  've  done  ?  Hey  ?  I  'm 
no  chicken,  you  know,  neither  is  she." 

"  She  's  told  you  all  about  herself,  has  she  ? 
Did  she  tell  you  "  —  then  Gordon  drew  in  again 
and  changed  his  tone  —  "  Well,  in  that  case,  you 
can  hardly  need  any  warning  from  me.  I  don't 
deny  that  she  's  a  better  authority  than  I  am  and 
could  tell  you  things  —  Never  mind.  Now  this  is 
all  over,  suppose  you  leave  me  to  my  pipe  and 
my  novel.  It 's  extremely  entertaining.  There 's 
a  clever  woman  in  it  who  makes  a  fool  of  two 
men." 

Edgar  got  off  the  bed  and  stood  up  ;  but  he 
was  n't  going  quite  yet  —  Oh,  no !  "  That 's  all 
right,"  he  said,  standing  beside  Gordon,  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets  and  something  between  a  grin 
and  a  frown  on  his  amiable  features,  —  "  that 's 
all  right.  But  there  's  another  story  to  the  thing. 
How  about  that  Stanton  girl,  hey  ?  " 

Gordon  looked  up,  with  more  annoyance  than  he 
had  yet  shown ;  but  he  controlled  it.  "I  don't  see 
that  Miss  Stanton  has  anything  to  do  with  this 
affair  at  all." 


A   TUTORED   SAVAGE  199 

"  Oh,  but  she  has,  though."  Edgar  turned 
towards  the  door.  "  I  know  your  little  game." 

"  Little  game  ?  "  Gordon  repeated,  really  puzzled 
this  time. 

"  Why,  of  course.  Want  her  yourself,  hey  ?  The 
Miss  with  millions  ?  But  you  won't  get  her,  Gordy. 
Oh,  no  !  I  '11  put  a  spoke  in  your  wheel  for  that. 
What  a  trick  to  play  on  the  poor  old  man  at  home ! 
When  he  sent  you  out  here  on  purpose  to  get  the 
rocks  for  me  and  have  'em  in  the  family,  just  to 
grab  the  chance  to  make  big  money  for  yourself. 
Oh,  the  clever  boy !  He 's  above  such  things  as 
money.  He  won't  go  on  the  stock  market !  Oh,  no ! 
That  is  n't  big  enough  for  him ;  but  when  about 
five  millions  comes  along,  done  up  in  hide,  he  '11  put 
it  in  his  pocket.  Yes,  indeed.  It 's  pretty,  but 
what  '11  old  Stanton  say  when  I  tell  him  ?  Oh, 
my!  I"  — 

"  Get  out !  "  cried  Gordon,  who  had  just  found 
his  tongue.  "  Get  out !  Or  "  — 

Edgar  got  out,  his  pleasant  face  more  wrinkled 
than  usual  at  his  pleasant  jesting. 

Gordon,  when  he  was  alone,  forgot  his  anger  at 
once ;  but  he  dropped  his  novel  and  puffed  away 
rather  vigorously  at  his  pipe,  looking  up  at  the  ceil 
ing,  with  one  leg  thrown  over  the  arm  of  his  chair. 
Of  all  the  confounded  messes  into  which  a  destiny, 
hitherto  rather  considerate  than  otherwise,  had  led 
him,  this  was  certainly  the  worst.  Why  had  he 
ever  become  acquainted  with  Mr.  Payne  senior,  or 


200  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

ever  painted  the  portrait  of  his  frigid,  rigid  sister  ? 
What  was  he  doing  in  this  galley,  or  rather  why  had 
he  made  himself  a  galley-slave  for  nothing?  He 
marry  Priscilla  Stanton  ?  He  ? 

Then,  as  he  took  several  prolonged  whiffs  and 
blew  the  smoke  into  the  already  lurid  atmosphere,  it 
occurred  to  him  that  that  was  just  what  he  should 
like  to  do.  It  was  not  her  money.  Of  course  her 
money  would  be  pleasant.  He  was  old  enough  not 
to  be  a  fool.  He  had  no  contempt  for  money  and 
no  objection  to  marrying  it,  though  he  did  not  think 
he  would  marry  for  it.  Certainly,  he  would  not 
have  married  the  Countess  Markovski  for  double 
Priscilla's  millions.  But  in  this  case,  it  was  no 
question  of  money.  It  was  the  girl  herself.  She 
was  so  restful.  That  was  the  word  for  her,  over  and 
over  again  —  restful.  He  was  not  aware  that  he 
needed  rest  particularly  —  had  not  been  aware  of 
it,  until  he  met  her.  But  suddenly  he  seemed  to 
need  it  immensely.  And  in  the  haze  of  smoke  he 
saw  the  blue  day  at  Hadrian's  Villa  and  himself 
sitting  at  her  feet  with  her  voice  sounding  softly  in 
his  ears. 

At  length,  he  shook  himself  into  reality.  He  had 
eight  generations  of  Puritan  conscience  at  his 
back ;  and  on  the  first  view,  this  did  not  seem  a 
sort  of  thing  that  could  be  done.  There  are  a  num 
ber  of  his  countrymen  like  him  :  with  an  immense 
modern  imagination  to  suggest  all  possible  sins,  and 
a  quaint,  medieval  reluctance  to  commit  any  of 


A  TUTORED  SAVAGE  201 

them.  He  was  under  trust  in  this  matter,  as  Edgar 
said.  Father  Payne  had  sent  him  out  there  to 
secure  this  girl  and  her  millions  for  the  family; 
and  how  should  it  be  possible  for  him  calmly  to 
walk  off  with  her  himself  ?  He  might  not  be  able 
to  bring  about  the  match  that  was  proposed ;  but 
at  least,  after  all  suitable  endeavor  in  that  direction, 
he  could  fold  up  his  tents  and  retire  with  dignity. 

Then  he  rose,  refilled  his  pipe,  and  paced  the 
room  slowly,  backwards  and  forwards.  After  all, 
the  whole  thing  was  only  one  of  Edgar's  insane 
imaginations.  So  far  as  he  was  concerned,  the  idea 
was  pleasant,  uncommonly  pleasant.  It  was  aston 
ishing  how  pleasant  it  appeared,  now  that  it  was 
impossible.  But  Priscilla  herself  had  never  thought 
of  him,  that  was  certain ;  and  she  never  would. 
There  are  men  who  expect  all  women  to  fall  in  love 
with  them.  There  are  others  who  are  always  aston 
ished  at  such  a  result,  even  when  it  occurs  rather 
frequently.  And  women  often  fall  in  love  with  this 
latter  sort ;  as,  indeed,  they  do  with  the  others 
also.  But  Gordon,  as  I  hope  the  reader  is  aware, 
had  no  very  great  opinion  of  himself,  thought  very 
little  of  himself  in  any  connection  ;  and  it  did  not 
strike  him  as  possible  that  a  young  lady  from  Chi 
cago,  with  so  many  millions,  should  condescend  to 
look  his  way,  unless  on  the  trifling  occasion  of 
a  picnic  or  something  of  that  nature.  Neverthe 
less,  considering  his  own  feelings,  as  now  rendered 
manifest  by  Edgar's  blundering  allusion,  it  would 


202  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

certainly  be  wiser  to  keep  away  from  the  Stantons, 
it  would  be  wiser  to  keep  away  —  it  would  be  wiser 
—  that  is,  of  course,  so  far  as  courtesy  would  per 
mit.  All  of  a  sudden,  it  seemed  to  him  that  cour 
tesy  would  demand  that  he  should  see  them  a  great 
deal  more  than  he  had  done  hitherto.  Well,  in  that 
case,  perhaps  it  would  be  better  that  he  should  be 
a  little  discourteous. 

Then  his  mind  reverted  to  the  rest  of  his  talk 
with  Edgar.  Had  he  accomplished  anything?  It 
had  all  been  extremely  unpleasant  for  himself  at  any 
rate,  and  he  would  be  shot  if  he  would  attempt  any 
further  and  more  personal  revelations.  After  all, 
perhaps  it  would  not  be  necessary.  He  had  noticed 
that  Edgar  had  said  no  word  about  marriage,  while, 
of  course,  he  himself  had  carefully  avoided  refer 
ring  to  anything  of  the  kind.  It  might  be  that  the 
hints  he  had  dropped  would  bear  fruit  in  time, 
especially  if  he  said  nothing  more. 

Then  he  smiled,  as  always,  at  the  thought  of  pre 
suming  to  do  battle  with  such  a  subtle  foe  as  the 
Countess.  And  the  smile  broadened,  as  he  thought 
of  her  describing  her  past  to  Edgar.  How  he  would 
have  liked  to  hear  that  story ! 

As  he  put  out  his  light  and  turned  over  to  sleep, 
he  smiled  again,  this  time  at  the  oddness  of  the  com 
plication  in  his  feeling  for  Priscilla.  The  smile  was 
a  more  amiable  one  than  the  other ;  but  there  was 
a  bit  of  pain  with  it,  for  various  reasons. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A  BIT  OF  SHADOW 

FOR  some  little  time  Gordon  did  nothing  further 
in  regard  to  Edgar ;  but  on  the  whole  he  felt  en 
couraged.  The  two  saw  almost  nothing  of  each 
other,  and  it  was  possible  that  Edgar  was  seeing 
a  good  deal  of  the  Countess.  He  never  mentioned 
her,  however,  on  the  occasions  when  he  did  meet 
his  tutor ;  and  the  latter,  believing  any  delay  to  be 
a  gain,  and  thinking  it  probable  that  he  should 
hear  something  of  a  marriage  before  such  a  thing 
was  definitely  arranged,  began  to  cherish  a  faint 
hope  that  his  words  had  made  some  slight  impres 
sion,  after  all. 

So  far  as  the  Stantons  were  concerned,  he  tried 
to  stick  to  his  resolutions,  and  was  amazed  to  find 
how  hard  it  was  to  do  so.  It  was  altogether  too 
dismal  passing  the  evenings  alone  at  home.  The 
thought  of  Priscilla  in  her  pleasant  parlor  would 
keep  coming.  Then  he  tried  going  out,  Mrs.  Bar 
ton's,  and  his  various  Roman  acquaintance,  tried 
loafing  in  Morris's  and  other  studios.  He  amused 
himself  and  amused  others ;  it  was  born  in  him, 
and  he  could  not  help  it.  Still,  it  was  surprising 
how  the  image  of  Priscilla  haunted  him  through 
all  his  gayety. 


204  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

The  Stantons  did  not  help  him  very  much  either. 
He  met  Mr.  Stanton  at  the  bank,  and  was  invited 
to  dinner.  He  met  the  ladies  at  Mrs.  Barton's,  and 
was  invited  to  dinner.  It  became  clear  that  cour 
tesy  required  that  he  should  go  to  dinner.  So  he 
went.  It  was  very,  very  pleasant.  Yet  there  was  no 
one  there  but  the  family,  and  uncle  Edwin,  and  Mr. 
Parsons,  who  quoted  Shelley  without  ceasing,  and 
took  occasion  to  mention  that  wealth  was  vulgar  and 
war  outgrown.  After  dinner,  however,  Gordon 
and  Priscilla  got  a  little  apart,  and  chatted  vaguely 
and  quietly  of  everything  and  nothing.  Then,  when 
Mr.  Parsons  had  gone  to  quote  Shelley  elsewhere, 
Priscilla  seated  Gordon  at  the  piano  and  made  him 
sing  the  latest  songs  from  home,  which  he  did  with 
his  usual  drollery,  to  the  huge  amusement  of  Mr. 
Stanton.  That  gentleman  was  neither  so  old  nor  so 
rich  as  not  to  be  touched  by  reminiscences  of  a  dance- 
hall  and  a  variety  show ;  while  the  curious  delicacy 
of  the  performance  made  it  charming  to  Mrs.  Stan- 
ton  and  Priscilla,  whose  feminine  recollections  were 
naturally  of  a  less  precise  and  vivid  character. 

Yes,  it  was  all  very,  very  pleasant ;  and  it  ended 
in  a  promise  to  drive  with  Priscilla  on  the  first  fine 
day  to  the  Protestant  Cemetery  and  visit  the  graves 
of  Keats  and  Shelley.  As  Gordon  walked  home 
he  sighed  to  think  of  the  extreme  inefficacy  of 
human  will  when  pitted  against  human  weakness. 

The  next  day  was  rainy,  chilly,  and  hateful,  and 
the  day  after.  The  day  following  that,  the  sky 


A   BIT   OF   SHADOW  205 

cleared,  the  wind  got  into  the  south,  and  the  air 
had  the  touch  of  spring  that  comes  at  Rome  even 
in  the  middle  of  December.  Gordon  presented  him 
self  at  the  Stantons'  at  half-past  two,  as  agreed 
upon  ;  and  while  he  was  waiting  for  Priscilla  to  get 
ready,  he  chatted  with  Mrs.  Stanton.  Why  did 
she  not  come  with  them,  he  urged.  Well,  she  was 
expecting  friends  that  afternoon,  and  couldn't. 
The  truth  was  she  thought  Priscilla  would  rather 
go  alone,  and  she  was  a  model  American  mother. 
Not  that  she  would  have  let  her  daughter  go  about 
with  an  undesirable  young  man.  Not  for  a  moment. 
But  Mrs.  Stanton  liked  Gordon.  For  the  last  year 
the  possibility  of  Edgar  Payne  had  hung  over  her 
like  a  nightmare ;  and  now  she  felt  that  Gordon  had, 
somehow  or  other,  saved  her  from  that  possibility, 
and  she  was  kindly  disposed  to  him  in  consequence. 
Of  course,  she  was  mistaken ;  but  then  almost  all 
our  good  fortune  comes  as  a  reward  for  something 
we  have  n't  done,  does  n't  it  ?  Then,  she  knew  that 
Mr.  Stanton  also  had  taken  to  Gordon  greatly.  So 
Priscilla  was  allowed  to  go  alone  and  enjoy  herself. 
In  a  few  minutes  she  appeared,  in  a  long  brown 
coat,  with  her  hands  in  her  pockets,  after  the 
approved  modern  fashion,  a  huge  brown  hat  with 
brown  feathers  overshadowing  her  eyes  and  fore 
head.  "  Come !  "  she  said.  "  Come !  I  have  been 
shut  up  in  the  house  reading  novels  for  two  days, 
till  my  eyes  ache.  Oh,  how  I  want  to  get  out  of 
doors !  "  And  out  of  doors  they  went. 


206  THE  PRIVATE   TUTOR 

They  drove  through  the  Via  dell  Tritone,  Piazza 
Colonna,  and  the  Corso,  all  alive  with  vehicles,  and 
noisy  as  only  Italy  is  noisy.  Priscilla  was  infinitely 
gay,  and  Gordon  also  ;  and  they  called  each  other's 
attention  to  this,  that,  and  the  other  oddity,  making 
unkind  observations  in  a  kindly  spirit,  and  so  har 
monizing  mirth  and  charity,  to  do  which  is  the 
highest  philosophy  of  life.  Then  they  threaded  the 
crooked  streets  at  the  foot  of  the  Capitol  and  made 
their  way  over  toward  the  Tiber,  and  past  the  Tem 
ple  of  Vesta,  seeming  always  a  monument  of  soli 
tude,  in  the  heart  of  the  crowded  city.  Under  the 
west  slope  of  the  Aventine  and  along  the  barren 
Via  della  Marmorata  they  drove  more  rapidly. 

"  Let  us  climb  Monte  Testaccio  first,"  said  Gor 
don.  He  saw  that  the  excursion  would  be  over 
much  too  quickly,  and  that  it  depended  on  him  to 
devise  sleights  for  lingering  and  lingering  it  out. 

"Very  well,"  Priscilla  agreed.  "Let  us  climb 
anything." 

They  drove  to  the  foot  of  the  singular  agglom 
eration  of  broken  pottery  which  seems  to  have 
served  the  orderly,  or  disorderly,  ancients  as  a  gen 
eral  rubbish  heap.  It  is  a  sharp,  steep  walk  to  the 
top,  though  only  a  few  steps,  and  Priscilla's  cheeks 
glowed  under  her  brown  hat. 

"Why  did  they  —  put  it  here?"  she  asked, 
looking  about  her  with  a  pretty  little  gasp  for 
breath. 

"  Human  egotism  prompts  the  suggestion  that  it 


A   BIT   OF   SHADOW  207 

was  made  for  me  to  climb  —  with  you.  But  there 
may  have  been  other  reasons." 

The  near  view  from  Testaccio  is  not  charming, 
consisting  of  stone-yards  at  the  foot  of  the  slope, 
and  broad,  straight,  barren  streets  a  little  further 
off.  Nevertheless,  one  sees,  a  little  further  still, 
the  slopes  of  the  Aventine,  with  domes  and  spires 
peeping  over  them,  off  to  the  east  the  strange, 
symbolic  pyramid  of  Cestius,  with  its  line  of 
gloomy  cypresses,  and,  furthest  of  all,  the  Alban 
Mountains,  with  their  crown  of  snow. 

The  tranquil  blessedness  of  the  afternoon  sun 
light  made  it  all  very  lovely  to  Priscilla,  after  her 
two  days  of  rain  and  novels.  She  turned  slowly 
about,  so  as  to  sweep  the  whole  horizon,  and  then 
said  in  a  thoughtful  tone  :  "  Thank  you  very  much 
for  bringing  me  here." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Gordon,  in  reply.  That  was 
all. 

Then  they  ran  down  the  slope  again,  like  two 
children  out  for  a  holiday.  In  a  few  minutes,  the 
carriage  brought  them  to  the  main  object  of  their 
excursion,  the  Protestant  Cemetery.  Like  every 
thing  else  in  Italy,  this  cemetery  was  evidently 
designed  with  a  view  to  summer  and  scorching 
heat.  In  the  intensity  of  an  August  midday,  when 
the  birds  are  asleep  and  the  cicada  is  cutting  the 
blue  air  with  his  keen  cry,  the  shadow  of  the  vast 
cypresses  is  touched  with  dreamy  repose.  There 
could  be  no  fitter  resting  place  for  poets,  whose 


208  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

souls  were  full  of  love  and  sunshine.  But  in  the 
dead  of  winter  there  is  something  chill  and  bitter 
there.  The  weak  sun  of  December  barely  pierces 
the  cypresses  at  all.  Even  on  bright  days,  the 
damp  does  not  dry  from  the  gravestones  and  the 
paths  are  green  and  slippery  with  moisture.  It 
seems  as  if  the  passionate  heart  of  Shelley  must  be 
numb  with  frost,  where  it  rests  forever  under  the 
cold  shade. 

"  Oh,"  said  Priscilla,  "  let  us  come  away  from 
here.  I  don't  like  it." 

Gordon,  in  default  of  Mr.  Parsons,  tried  in 
vain  to  make  her  listen  to  the  last  stanzas  of 
"  Adonais."  "No,"  she  said,  "no,  no!  Poets  must 
live  in  sunlight  and  die  in  sunlight.  This  is  no 
place  for  them  here." 

The  grave  of  Keats  touched  her  more  nearly. 
Lying,  as  it  does,  without  the  formal  precincts  of 
the  cemetery,  it  escapes,  to  some  extent,  the  gloom 
which  overshadows  the  rest.  Even  then,  in  mid- 
December,  a  rose  was  blooming  in  the  little  in- 
closure,  and  the  slant  sunlight  fell  softly  on  the 
stone  with  its  pathetic  inscription :  "  Here  lieth 
one  whose  name  was  writ  in  water." 

Priscilla  read  the  words  gently,  almost  to  her 
self. 

"  Yet  he  was  a  great  poet,"  Gordon  said,  "  one 
of  England's  very  greatest.  Within  a  convenient 
time  after  his  death,  the  world  found  it  out,  and 
much  good  it  did  him.  He  died  of  the  thirst  for 


A   BIT   OF  SHADOW  209 

glory,  and  glory  came  upon  him,  and  he  never 
knew  it." 

"  Perhaps  he  knows  it  now,"  Priscilla  suggested, 
gently  still. 

"  Perhaps." 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"  I  don't  know,  I  'm  sure. 

'  What  Adonais  is  why  fear  we  to  become  ?  ' 

It  is  the  best  thing  that  has  ever  been  uttered  about 
immortality,  because  it  is  so  perfectly  illogical." 

When  they  were  settled  in  the  carriage  again, 
Gordon  said :  "  Surely  we  are  not  going  home  yet. 
The  afternoon  isn't  half  over." 

"  Surely  not,  if  you  don't  wish  it.  You  are  my 
guide  to  Rome,  as  I  told  you  long  ago." 

"  Well,  then,  let  us  drive  up  to  San  Pietro  in 
Montorio  and  see  the  view  and  the  sunset.  It  is 
all  in  Baedeker,  to  be  sure ;  but  there  are  some 
things  that  even  Baedeker  doesn't  spoil." 

They  drove  back  again  along  the  Via  della  Mar- 
morata  and  the  bank  of  the  river,  crossed  the 
bridge  of  Santa  Maria  del  Sole,  and  made  their 
way  through  the  narrow  streets  of  Trastevere  to 
the  foot  of  the  Janiculum. 

As  they  went,  they  chatted  idly. 

"  It  seems  odd  somehow  that  we  should  meet 
over  here  and  get  so  well  acquainted,  after  never 
having  heard  of  each  other  at  home,"  Priscilla  re 
marked. 


f 

210  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

"Yes,  it  does  seem  odd.  But  then  everything 
seems  odd  to  me.  I  walk  through  life  like  a  man 
through  a  shop  full  of  jacks-in-the-box.  At  every 
step  something  curious  flies  up  and  hits  me  in  the 
face.  Yet  there  are  people  who  find  life  monoto 
nous.  I  think  I  must  have  an  imbecile  but  happy 
tendency  to  surprisability." 

"  Don't  you  get  tired  of  yourself  sometimes  ?  " 

"  Never.  I  find  myself  inexhaustibly  interesting. 
Sometimes  I  get  tired  of  other  people.  You  see  I 
can  calculate  a  little  on  what  I  am  going  to  do 
myself,  and  then  it  is  always  amusing  to  find  my 
self  not  doing  it.  With  other  people  I  can't  even 
calculate." 

"Do  you  make  resolutions  and  then  break 
them?" 

"  I  did  when  I  was  younger.  I  have  learned 
better  now." 

"  Not  to  break  them  ?  " 

"Not  to  make  them.  But  see  here,"  Gordon 
went  on,  laughing,  "why  are  we  talking  about 
me?  Talking  about  one's  self  to  a  —  charming 
woman  is  the  most  seductive  of  occupations ;  but 
after  a  certain  age  one  learns  to  refrain  from  it." 

"  Is  n't  that  a  resolution  ?  " 

"  A  broken  one,  if  you  like."  Then  he  turned  and 
looked  at  his  companion.  "  Now  about  you,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,"  answered  Priscilla,  looking  at  him 
steadily,  but  without  a  touch  of  coquetry,  "a 
woman  does  n't  talk.  She  listens." 


1 

A  BIT  OF  SHADOW  211 

"  That  is  n't  the  common  opinion."  Then  he 
added,  after  a  moment's  reflection  :  "  but  it 's  the 
true  one.  The  man  does  nine  tenths  of  the  talking. 
Then  he  finds  fault  with  the  woman  because  she 
won't  let  him  do  the  other  tenth.  But  I  've  done 
my  nine  tenths  now.  Talk." 

"  That  sounds  just  as  if  you  were  holding  the 
great  brass  ear  of  a  graphophone  or  a  reporter  up 
in  front  of  me.  What  shall  I  say  ?  " 

"  Anything.  Who  is  your  favorite  poet  ?  What 
is  the  color  of  your  parlor  furniture  ?  How  many 
times  have  you  been  in  love  ?  " 

"Shelley.    Ked.    Never." 

"Heavens!  You  take  my  breath  away.  How 
exact  and  precise  you  are  !  Your  conversation  lacks 
atmosphere." 

"  But  for  the  graphophone  ?  "  she  suggested 
mischievously. 

"And  as  to  the  matter  of  love,"  he  went  on, 
taking  no  notice,  "  it  can't  be  true.  One  always 
hovers,  you  know,  before  one  lights." 

"  I  think  there  are  some  who  never  hover."  She 
was  more  serious  now. 

"  And  there  are  some  who  never  light.  It  is 
true.  But  those  are  the  exceptions.  One  should 
make  it  the  aim  of  one's  life  not  to  be  an  exception 
in  anything." 

"  I  suppose  men  always  —  hover."  She  was  still 
serious  and  spoke  slowly,  gazing  off  into  the 
distance. 


212  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered,  thoughtfully  also. 
"  I  have  —  hovered.  I  am  tired  of  it  and  ready  to 
light  now."  Then,  changing  his  tone  :  "  There  we 
are  talking  about  me  again.  Wonderful  how  at 
tractive  the  subject  is ;  but  let  us  get  out  and  look 
at  the  view  instead." 

They  had  reached  the  little  platform  or  terrace 
in  front  of  San  Pietro  in  Montorio,  and  certainly 
the  view  was  as  attractive  as  any  subject  could  be. 
It  is,  of  course,  complementary  to  that  from  the 
Pincian,  but  far  vaster  and  more  varied.  And  at 
that  hour  the  light  was  such  as  to  show  it  in  per 
fection.  The  air,  moistened  by  the  warm  south 
wind,  was  full  of  a  rich,  soft  haze ;  and  the  low 
sun  gleaming  through  it  poured  a  delicate  golden 
radiance  over  the  hundred  domes  and  towers  spread 
out  at  their  feet.  The  eye  turned  from  the  Aven- 
tine  to  the  Palatine ;  rested  on  the  vast,  low  bulk 
of  the  Colosseum,  cut  sharp  against  the  purple 
hills ;  passed  over  the  Capitol  and  the  Quirinal  and 
all  the  churches  of  the  medieval  city,  noting  here 
an  obelisk  and  there  the  square  roof  of  a  palace- 
fortress.  Further  still,  it  caught  the  keen  points  of 
Soracte  piercing  the  blue,  and  in  the  nearer  fore 
ground,  the  yellow  symmetry  of  the  Mole  of  Ha 
drian.  Still  further  to  the  west,  rose  Monte  Mario, 
crowned  with  its  villas  and  gardens,  and  further 
yet  again,  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's,  the  dome  only, 
hanging  huge,  clear,  and  quiet  in  the  golden  light. 

"  It  is  beautiful,"  was  Priscilla's  simple  comment. 


A   BIT  OF  SHADOW  213 

"  Yes,"  said  Gordon.  "  It  is  beautiful,  spirit 
ually  beautiful.  There  are  a  thousand  views  at 
home,  in  New  England,  infinitely  more  beautiful 
in  themselves;  for,  after  all,  this  is  bleak  and 
barren  in  winter  and  parched  and  barren  in  sum 
mer.  What  makes  the  beauty  here  is  the  tread  of 
human  feet  and  the  touch  of  human  hands.  Romu 
lus,  and  Horatius,  and  Marius,  and  Caesar,  and 
Cicero,  and  Brutus,  who  were  such  a  bore  at  school, 
get  their  revenge  here.  They  say  St.  Peter  was 
martyred  on  this  spot,  and  I  suppose  it  might  have 
been  here  as  well  as  anywhere  else.  What  is  cer 
tain  is,  that  myriads  of  weary  pilgrims  have  climbed 
up  hither,  to  gaze  at  the  haven  of  their  hopes.  It 
touches  us,  because  we  are  men  too  and  pilgrims 
too." 

"  Pilgrims  in  search  of  what  ?  "  asked  his  com 
panion,  with  soberness. 

"  Ah,  I  do  not  know.    Did  they  ?  " 

They  lingered  for  a  few  moments  longer.  Then, 
at  Gordon's  suggestion,  they  turned  and  went  into 
the  church.  It  is  a  quiet  little  church,  not  much 
visited  even  by  those  who  come  to  the  place  for  the 
sake  of  the  view  without. 

"  I  like  the  Catholic  churches,  especially  these 
out-of-the-way  ones,  more  and  more,"  said  Pris- 
cilla.  "  There  is  a  calm  about  them  which  does  not 
seem  to  be  anywhere  else  in  the  world." 

"  Did  you  visit  the  Certosa  at  Florence  ?  "  Gor 
don  asked. 


214  THE  PRIVATE   TUTOR 

"  Ah,  yes,  that  little  garden  in  the  midst  of  the 
cloisters,  that  was  more  peaceful  even  than  a 
church,  just  like  a  corner  cut  right  out  of  the  blue 
heaven  over  it." 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  pass  my  life  there,  medi 
tating  and  raising  vegetables,"  Gordon  added 
thoughtfully.  "  Only  I  should  n't.  It  is  odd  how 
many  things  we  at  the  same  time  wish  and  don't 
wish." 

They  walked  slowly  about  the  cold  and  silent 
building,  peering  up  at  the  dim  altar-pieces  in  the 
chapels,  mostly  done  by  pupils,  after  the  greater 
masters.  Everything  had  the  touch  of  mediocrity 
which  belongs  to  many  objects  in  Rome,  medi 
ocrity  relieved  by  an  atmosphere  of  moss-grown 
dignity,  not  native  to  the  things  themselves.  Our 
travelers  were  loath  to  leave  the  place.  There  was 
an  intimate  calm  about  it  which  seemed  to  bring 
them  nearer  to  each  other  than  even  the  natural 
joy  of  the  outer  world. 

At  length  Gordon  bestirred  himself.  It  was  too 
intimate,  too  calm,  to  be  compatible  with  the  atti 
tude  he  had  decided  to  adopt.  "  If  we  stay  longer 
here,  we  shall  lose  the  sunset,"  he  said. 

Priscilla  would  have  preferred  to  stay,  but  she 
could  not  well  refuse  to  go  ;  and  in  a  few  minutes 
they  were  driving  along  the  great  open  sweep  of 
the  Passeggiata  Margherita.  The  view  to  the 
westward  from  this  new  promenade  offers  a  beau 
tiful  contrast  to  that  in  the  opposite  direction  over 


A   BIT  OF   SHADOW  215 

the  city.  Here  are  no  ruins,  no  palaces,  no 
churches,  with  their  cold  gray  domes ;  but  villas 
surrounded  with  groves  and  gardens,  and  great 
rolling  curves  of  hill  and  valley,  at  that  moment 
full  of  cavernous  depth  of  shadow,  overshot  with 
shafts  of  sunlight.  The  sky  was  clear  and  quiet, 
deep  blue,  pale  blue,  golden.  The  cypresses  on  the 
horizon  stood  out  against  the  gold  background, 
sharp  and  stately. 

"  Let  us  get  out  and  sit  here  for  a  few  mo 
ments,"  Gordon  suggested.  But,  instead  of  sitting, 
they  went  and  leaned  over  the  western  parapet, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  they  were  voyagers  setting  out 
into  that  golden  sea.  For  a  few  moments  they 
gazed  in  silence.  Then,  with  the  fatal  instinct  of 
love,  which  makes  the  universe  play  accompani 
ments  to  its  own  passionate  duo,  they  began  to 
speak  of  themselves,  softly,  absently,  with  tones 
full  of  the  golden  light ;  not  directly  either,  but 
through  the  medium  of  things  apparently  in 
different. 

"  You  have  n't  said  a  word  to-day  about  your  — 
what  shall  I  say  —  intended  ?  "  Gordon  began. 

"Whom  do  you  mean?"  Priscilla  answered 
slowly. 

"  Ah,  she  feigns  ignorance  —  she  is  a  coquette." 
As  Priscilla  took  no  notice  of  this,  he  went  on : 
"  Are  n't  you  sorry  for  all  the  trouble  you  have 
caused  me  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  said,  still  looking  away  into  the  sky. 


216  THE  PRIVATE   TUTOR 

"  Then  you  ought  to  be.  Don't  you  know  that 
if  it  were  n't  for  you  the  wedding  bells  would  be 
ringing  merrily  ?  Don't  you  know  that  just  because 
of  you  they  may  soon  be  ringing  for  somebody 
else  ?  " 

Priscilla  deserted  the  sky,  and,  still  leaning  on 
the  parapet,  looked  from  under  the  rim  of  the 
brown  hat  into  her  companion's  eyes.  "  What  do 
you  mean  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  What  I  say." 

«  Who  is  to  be  married?    To  whom  ?  " 

"  Well,  the  cards  are  not  out  yet ;  but  it  appears 
that  the  young  man  whom  you  — jilted,  so  unkindly, 
consoles  himself  with  a  foreign  lady  of  distinction." 

"Who?"  There  was  a  grain  of  sharpness  in 
the  question.  Priscilla  did  not  want  Edgar,  just 
as  Edgar  did  not  want  Priscilla ;  yet  neither  was 
quite  pleased  to  have  the  other  turn  to  some  one 
else.  Just  as  Antonia,  for  her  part,  was  extremely 
displeased  at  seeing  Gordon  at  Priscilla's  feet.  It 
was  an  odd  twist  of  purple  threads  in  the  tangled 
skein  of  love.  "  Who  ?  "  she  said. 

Gordon  let  his  eyes  rest  on  hers  for  a  second  and 
then,  in  his  turn,  took  refuge  in  the  sunset.  "  The 
Countess  Markovski,"  he  answered. 

"  Markovski,  Markovski  —  where  have  I  heard 
the  name  ?  Oh,  yes,  I  was  introduced  to  her  the 
other  evening  at  Mrs.  Barton's.  I  did  n't  like  her." 

"  That  is  unfortunate.  And  we  met  her  driving 
on  the  Pincian  one  afternoon.  Do  you  remember  ?  " 


A  BIT  OF  SHADOW  217 

Priscilla  nodded.  "  A  Countess,"  she  said  mus 
ingly.  "  But  will  she  be  a  Countess  ?  The  Countess 
Edgar  Payne  ?  " 

"  Well,  not  exactly.  Just  plain  Mrs.  Edgar 
Payne,  I  should  say." 

"  Plain  —  but  she  is  handsome,  very  handsome 
—  if  you  like  that  kind.  And  is  she  rich?  "  Gor 
don  shook  his  head  dubiously  and  Priscilla  went  on. 
"  Poor  Mr.  Payne  !  Poor  papa  !  Poor  Countess  !  " 

"  Why  don't  you  say  4  Poor  Mr.  Gordon  ? ' ' 
He  turned  to  look  at  her,  with  a  mixture  of  mis 
chief  and  irritation.  "  Why  don't  you  ?  I  'm  sure 
you  ought.  It 's  awfully  hard  on  me,  you  know.  I 
get  everything  so  nicely  arranged  and  then  you  go 
back  on  me.  Well,  you  did,"  as  she  shook  her 
head.  "  Then  there  comes  up  this  other  complica 
tion  ;  and  what  am  I  to  do  ?  You  're  bound  to  help 
me  so  far,  I  think." 

Priscilla  did  not  answer  f  01;  a  moment,  but  looked 
once  more  steadily  at  the  west.  The  sun  had  al 
ready  passed  behind  the  hills.  "  Can't  you  buy  the 
lady  off  ?  "  she  said,  with  the  cold  insolence  of  vir 
tue.  "  They  always  do  in  novels." 

"This  isn't  a  novel.  No,  I  think  not."  He 
spoke  a  little  shortly  ;  for  he  suddenly  remembered 
that  he  had  loved  this  woman  with  whose  name 
virtue  was  so  ready  to  play  football. 

Priscilla,  struck  by  his  tone,  gave  him  a  quick 
and  searching  glance.  "  Do  you  know  the  Countess 
Markovski  ?  "  she  asked. 


218  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

"Yes,  I  know  her  —  that  is" —  He  left  the 
sentence  incomplete  and  turned  away. 

"  Then  I  should  go  to  her,"  was  the  young  lady's 
haughty  comment.  "  I  should  think  she  was  the  one 
to  help  you,  if  any  one.  I  am  so  chilly.  Supposing 
we  start." 

She  was  chilly,  a  little,  Gordon  thought ;  and  they 
started.  That  day  the  Countess  Markovski's  name 
was  no  more  named  between  them.  The  chill  wore 
off,  however,  in  a  few  minutes,  and  Priscilla  got  to 
speaking  softly  and  happily  of  home  and  home  ways 
and  how  glad  she  should  be  to  get  back  to  them. 
As  they  drove  again  through  the  crowded  Roman 
streets,  in  the  pleasant  blending  of  twilight  and 
moonlight,  Gordon  found  once  more  the  sense  of 
infinite  restfulness  which  charmed  him  in  Pris- 
cilla's  society.  All  the  Edgars  and  Countesses  in 
the  wide  world  troubled  him  not. 

Once  in  his  own  room,  however,  he  realized  that 
he  had  added  another  to  the  long  and  cheerful  string 
of  broken  resolutions.  It  is  true,  he  still  thought 
that  Priscilla  cared  nothing  for  him  —  he  thought 
not ;  but,  even  for  his  own  part,  the  sweetness  was 
getting  a  little  too  sweet.  Still,  he  would  make  no 
more  resolutions. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
A  DUEL 

THE  Countess  Antonia  had  a  great  desire  to  see 
Miss  Stanton.  She  had,  indeed,  been  introduced 
to  her  at  Mrs.  Barton's ;  but  it  was  only  a  glance, 
a  nod,  and  an  eighth  or  a  sixteenth  of  a  smile.  She 
wanted  to  talk  with  her  alone,  to  watch  her,  in 
short,  to  fight  one  of  those  little  duels  in  which 
some  women  use  their  claws  with  purring  polite 
ness.  She  had  no  especial  object  in  view,  except 
the  gratification  of  her  curiosity.  The  suggestion 
made  to  Edgar,  that  Gordon  proposed  to  marry 
Priscilla  if  he  could,  had  been  merely  a  casual  in 
vention  of  spitefulness.  It  might  very  well  be  true ; 
but  she  hardly  expected  to  ascertain  the  truth  of 
it  during  a  morning  call.  If  it  were  true,  she  did 
not  know  that  she  would  meddle  in  the  matter. 
She  hated  Priscilla  instinctively ;  but  perhaps  there 
would  be  no  better  way  of  gratifying  her  hatred 
than  to  let  a  man  marry  the  girl  for  her  money. 
If  Gordon  were  married  and  rich,  and  she  herself 
were  married  and  rich,  they  might  meet  again  in 
the  American  antipodes,  after  all. 

But  though  she  wished  to  call  on  Priscilla,  she 
had  no  particular  desire  to  call  on  Mrs.  Stanton. 


220  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

Through  her  maid,  who  was  perfectly  at  home  in 
such  matters,  she  ascertained  that  it  was  Mrs. 
Stanton's  custom  to  spend  every  Monday  with  an 
invalid  friend  who  occupied  a  villa  beyond  the 
Porta  Pia.  As  for  Mr.  Stanton,  he  invariably 
passed  the  afternoon  out,  either  driving,  or  visit 
ing,  or  reading  the  papers  at  Piale's.  Antonia 
made  her  arrangements  accordingly. 

The  Monday  after  Priscilla's  drive  with  Gordon, 
which  had  taken  place  on  a  Friday,  was  a  dull, 
damp,  miserable  day.  A  light,  misty  rain  fell  at 
times  ;  but  for  the  most  part  there  was  nothing  but 
fog,  thick,  drifting,  opening  up  for  a  few  minutes 
and  then  settling  down  again,  so  that  one  could 
hardly  pursue  ordinary  indoor  avocations  without 
a  light.  Priscilla  was  idle  and  out  of  sorts.  She 
had  not  been  herself  since  Friday.  The  thought 
of  the  Countess  Markovski  disturbed  her  a  little. 
There  had  certainly  been  something  odd  in  Gor 
don's  tone  when  he  referred  to  that  lady.  What 
did  it  mean?  Priscilla  no  longer  concealed  from 
herself  the  fact  that  Gordon  interested  her  very 
much.  When  she  told  him  that  she  had  never  been 
in  love,  she  told  him  the  exact  truth,  so  far  as  the 
perfect  tense  was  concerned.  If  he  had  asked  her 
whether  she  was  in  love,  her  answer  would,  of 
course,  have  been  exactly  the  same ;  but  perhaps 
she  could  not  have  given  it  with  quite  so  clear  a 
conscience.  Not  that  she  was  ready  to  use  the  word 
love  even  to  herself.  She  would  have  preferred  to 


A   DUEL  221 

have  him  use  it  for  her.  But  she  was  coining  to 
feel  that  his  company  was  pleasanter  than  any  other 
company,  his  voice  more  caressing  than  any  other 
voice,  his  hand  strong  and  sweet,  with  a  new 
strength  and  a  new  sweetness.  Now,  just  as  she 
was  ready  to  admit  this  openly,  there  came  up  an 
indefinable  black  shadow  of  a  disagreeable  black 
Countess,  who  put  tones  into  that  caressing  voice 
which  she,  Priscilla  Stanton,  did  not  wish  to  hear 
there.  It  was  tiresome.  Priscilla  was  not  a  tragedy 
heroine.  She  was  simply  a  demure,  discreet,  sensi 
ble,  American  girl.  Some  people  would  have  called 
her  cold.  Nevertheless,  I  think  I  would  rather  have 
had  her  love  than  that  of  the  Countess  Markovski. 
Above  all,  when  she  wanted  a  thing,  she  wanted  it 
with  the  most  commendable  tenacity. 

So  on  this  particular  day  she  was  a  bit  blue  and 
a  bit  cross.  Having  a  good  deal  of  self-control,  she 
did  not  make  her  state  of  mind  very  apparent.  Her 
mother,  indeed,  observed  it ;  but  as  she  had  already 
a  dim  inkling  of  the  cause,  and  had  been  at  one 
time  a  demure,  discreet,  sensible,  American  girl 
herself,  she  let  her  daughter  alone,  so  far  as  possible. 

Priscilla  was  grateful  for  this,  and  was  still  more 
grateful  for  the  absolute  solitude  which  came  after 
luncheon,  when  her  mother  betook  herself  to  the 
invalid  friend,  and  her  father  also  had  disappeared, 
as  usual.  Yet,  strange  to  say,  no  sooner  were  they 
gone  than  she  found  that  absolute  solitude  was  not 
quite  what  she  wanted.  She  took  up  a  book  —  a 


222  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

good,  serious  book,  in  order  to  prove  to  herself  that 
she  might  be  more  bored  than  she  was.  It  did  not 
answer.  She  went  to  the  piano  and  tried  to  play  a 
sonata  of  Beethoven.  But  she  found  that  the  stupid 
noise  of  the  instrument  interfered  with  her  hearing 
the  approach  of  any  visitor.  Besides,  she  wanted 
to  be  near  the  window.  Some  one  might  be  coming 
to  see  her  this  dull  afternoon.  What  visitor  ?  Who 
might  be  coming?  Really,  she  thought  she  was 
growing  absolutely  imbecile. 

Then  some  one  did  come.  Uncle  Edwin,  on  his 
way  to  a  four-o'clock  concert,  stopped  in  to  see  his 
relatives  for  a  few  moments.  Priscilla  was  very 
fond  of  uncle  Edwin,  and  always  treated  him  with 
a  great  courtesy  which  was  delightful  to  behold. 
Just  at  present  she  did  not  know  whether  she  was 
glad  to  see  him  or  not ;  but  she  would  give  him  the 
benefit  of  the  doubt. 

"  Well,  Priscilla,"  he  said,  leaning  back  in  an 
easy-chair,  crossing  his  legs,  and  folding  his  hands 
for  a  little  chat.  "  Have  they  left  you  all  alone  ?  " 

"  Yes,  uncle  Edwin,  and  I  'm  desperately  blue." 

"  Oh,  at  your  age  you  don't  know  what  blueness 
is.  Yours  is  only  a  little  paler  shade  of  rose  than 
usual." 

"  No,  it 's  blue,  blue,  blue.  I  don't  believe  old 
people  know  how  to  be  blue." 

"  Well,  perhaps  gray  is  more  the  color  for  us. 
But  what 's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Nothing  's  the  matter."    As  she   said  it  she 


A   DUEL  223 

peered  out  of  the  window  into  the  deepening  nrist, 
and  drummed  on  the  sill  with  her  fingers.  Then, 
realizing  that  she  was  not  being  very  civil,  she  apolo 
gized.  "  I  'm  rude,"  she  said,  "  and  not  making 
myself  entertaining.  Yet  I  'm  really  glad  to  see 
you,  uncle  Edwin.  Now  tell  me  all  the  news  from 
home.  Anybody  married  or  anything  ?  " 

Uncle  Edwin  thereupon  retailed  the  contents  of 
his  latest  letters,  with  facts  as  to  the  whole  gener 
ation  of  Stantons  dead  and  living ;  but  it  was  not 
tedious,  and  Priscilla  did  not  find  it  so ;  for  there 
was  love  through  it  all  and  a  bright  thread  of  gentle 
humor.  When  there  was  a  lull,  however,  it  occurred 
to  her  that  she  might  get  some  information  that 
would  be  still  more  interesting ;  so  she  changed  the 
subject.  "  Uncle  Edwin,"  she  began,  with  the  air 
of  making  small-talk,  "  do  you  know  the  Countess 
Markovski  ?  " 

Now  I  have  mentioned  elsewhere  that  the  Coun 
tess  was  rather  a  friend  of  uncle  Edwin's.  He 
would  allow  no  one  to  abuse  her  in  his  presence 
and  was  always  ready  with  ingenious  defense  and 
denial  when  any  one  tried  to  do  so.  Nevertheless,  he 
felt,  and  was  rather  surprised  and  annoyed  to  find 
that  he  felt,  a  decided  reluctance  to  have  his  niece 
Priscilla  know  the  Countess  Markovski,  or  even 
mention  her  name.  He  showed  his  annoyance  by 
crossing  his  legs  the  other  way  and  rubbing  his 
hands  together  a  little  nervously  ;  and  Priscilla  ob 
served  it.  "  Yes,  I  know  her,"  he  said,  "  do  you  ?  " 


224  THE  PRIVATE   TUTOR 

"  Not  at  all.  That  is  —  I  met  her  at  Mrs.  Bar 
ton's  the  other  evening.  She  interested  me.  She  is 
so  —  distinguished  looking,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  she  is  distinguished  looking."  Uncle  Ed 
win  fidgeted  again  and  appeared  as  if  he  would 
prefer  to  drop  the  subject,  which,  of  course,  made 
Priscilla,  not  at  present  in  the  mood  to  spare  any 
body,  all  the  more  anxious  to  continue  it. 

She  did  not  quite  know  how  to  do  this.  So  she 
made  a  plunge.  "  People  say  she  is  rather  —  rather 
—  not  quite  "  — 

This  was  too  much  for  uncle  Edwin.  It  was  his 
business  to  stand  up  for  a  friend,  no  matter  what 
the  circumstances  might  be.  He  unclasped  his 
hands,  placed  one  on  the  arm  of  the  chair,  and  with 
the  other  rubbed  his  chin  restlessly,  at  the  same 
time  tilting  his  suspended  foot.  "  People  say  very 
unkind  things,"  he  burst  out,  "  and  they  don't  know 
why  they  say  them.  I  have  been  acquainted  with 
the  Countess  Markovski  for  some  years  and  I  con 
sider  her  a  lady.  It  is  very  different  over  here  from 
what  it  is  at  home,  where  everybody  knows  every 
body  and  everybody's  grandfather.  This  cosmopol 
itan  life  shifts  like  the  sea.  People  come  up  like 
bubbles.  You  see  them  for  a  while.  Then  they  are 
gone  again.  You  don't  know  where  they  have  gone 
to,  any  more  than  where  they  come  from.  You  have 
to  take  them  for  just  what  they  are,  nothing  more. 
The  Countess  Markovski  is  eccentric  and  very  in 
discreet,  I  dare  say ;  but  she  is  generous,  and  full 


A   DUEL  225 

of  noble  and  kind  impulses.  As  for  the  stories 
people  tell  about  her  "  Then  he  remembered 
that  he  was  talking  to  a  young  girl,  stopped,  and 
was  going  to  change  the  subject  —  awkwardly, 
when  the  servant  brought  Priscilla  a  card. 

"  Countess  Antonia  Markovski  —  Oh,  yes, 
show  her  in  at  once." 

Uncle  Edwin  was  dismayed.  "  Talk  of  the  devil, 
etc.,"  was  the  first  thought  that  occurred  to  him. 
But  what  was  he  to  do  ? 

"  Well,  well,  well !  "  said  Priscilla  under  her 
breath.  «  Is  n't  this  fun  ?  " 

Then  the  Countess  glided  into  the  room.  She 
wore  her  usual  black,  relieved  this  time  by  a  bit  of 
yellow  in  the  heavy  black  hat.  "  My  dear  young 
lady,"  she  said  to  Priscilla,  with  her  gentlest  and 
most  insinuating  manner,  "  I  ventured  to  call  on 
your  mother  and  you,  because  I  have  taken  a  great 
fancy  to  you  both.  It  is  inexcusably  unconven 
tional,  is  n't  it  ?  "  Then  she  shrugged  her  shoulders 
almost  imperceptibly,  as  if  to  say,  "  What  will  you 
have  ?  I  can  do  nothing  with  my  fancies." 

Priscilla  murmured  something  vague  in  appre 
ciation  of  the  compliment,  and  the  dark  lady  turned 
to  uncle  Edwin.  The  attitudes  of  the  two  as  they 
shook  hands,  she  looking  down  on  him,  with  the 
slightest  inclination  of  her  graceful  figure,  he  bent 
and  bowed  in  all  possible  angles,  yet  so  digni 
fied  with  it  all,  were  a  delightful  picture.  "  Ah, 
Mr.  Stanton,"  she  said,  "  I  have  n't  seen  you  for  so 


226  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

long !  Now  that  your  country  has  become  great  and 
imperial  and  world-subduing,  you  have  forgotten 
your  old  sympathies  and  poor  little  Poland." 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  I  don't  like  world-subdu 
ing.  You  know  me  well  enough  for  that." 

They  had  all  seated  themselves,  the  Countess  on 
a  sofa  near  Mr.  Stanton,  Priscilla  on  the  other 
side,  a  little  further  off.  Uncle  Edwin  took  the 
main  burden  of  the  talk,  as  was  natural  enough ; 
and  Priscilla  watched.  The  Countess  was  charming 
certainly,  with  that  perpetual,  sinuous  grace  of  all 
her  movements.  It  was  easy  to  see  how  she  fasci 
nated  uncle  Edwin  —  and  others. 

The  conversation  turned  on  music,  apropos  of 
Mr.  Stanton's  concert.  "  It  is  to  be  chamber  music, 
quartettes,"  he  said,  "Mozart  and  Schumann. 
But  here  in  Rome  I  like  the  church  music  better ; 
although,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  hear  less  music  in 
Italy  than  in  any  other  country  and  less  in  Rome 
than  in  any  other  city  of  Italy." 

"  Ah,  you  are  so  fond  of  our  church,"  observed 
the  Countess.  "  Do  you  know,  Miss  Stanton,  I 
think  your  uncle  will  certainly  end  by  becoming  a 
Catholic?" 

"  We  often  tell  him  so,"  Priscilla  agreed. 

"  No,  no,"  was  the  half -humorous  answer  ;  "  I 
have  too  many  Catholic  friends  to  become  a  Cath 
olic  myself." 

"  Mr.  Stanton,  that  is  not  courteous." 

"  Well,  but  you  know,  every  mystery  loses  its 


A   DUEL  227 

charm  when  you  see  it  too  much  from  the  inside. 
Yet  I  love  the  Catholic  Church.  It  is  the  Church. 
All  the  others  are  mere  branches  and  offshoots." 

"  Why  not  enter  it,  then  ?  " 

"  I  can't  take  my  beliefs  ready  made,  Countess. 
The  Church  believes  in  authority ;  I  don't." 

"  But  you  must  have  some  authority  —  the  Bible 
perhaps  ?  " 

"No,  Countess,  not  even  the  Bible,  though  I 
love  it  more  than  the  Church." 

"  Ah,  it  is  reason,  then,  your  authority  ?  You 
are  a  rationalist  ?  " 

"  What  have  I  done  that  you  should  bait  me 
thus  with  theology?  I  like  the  rationalists  less 
than  the  Catholics.  My  authority  is  within.  I  feel 
my  belief  —  I  feel  it  —  feel  it  in  my  bones." 

The  Countess  gave  a  little  shrug  of  self-pity  and 
smiled  at  Priscilla.  "  This  is  —  what  do  you  call 
it  ?  —  Transcendentalism.  It  is  above  me.  Let  us 
talk  of  people.  That  I  can  understand."  Then  she 
asked  Mr.  Stanton  various  questions  about  his 
friends,  whom  she  had  met  at  different  times,  about 
distinguished  American  personages,  political  or 
other.  Her  memory  in  these  matters,  which  cer 
tainly  could  not  have  interested  her,  was  wonder 
ful  ;  and  more  wonderful  still,  the  tact  and  delicacy 
with  which  she  avoided  any  harsh,  bitter,  or  satiri 
cal  remark,  soothing  and  caressing  the  old  man's 
sympathies  at  every  word.  Priscilla,  who  by  this 
time  had  learned  her  uncle's  peculiarities,  appreci- 


228  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

ated  this  and  was  astonished.  The  woman  might 
be  an  adventuress,  but  she  was  clever,  more  than 
clever.  It  was  no  wonder  Gordon  was  interested 
in  her,  —  if  indeed  he  was. 

Uncle  Edwin  soon  grew  fidgety,  however.  The 
time  for  his  concert  was  rapidly  approaching. 
Should  he  go  and  leave  his  niece  unprotected? 
What  would  her  mother  say  to  him  ?  Yet  at  that 
moment  it  appeared  to  him  that  the  concert  was 
the  one  thing  he  wanted  to  hear  in  the  world.  He 
had  been  a  bachelor  for  nearly  eighty  years ;  and 
though  he  was  the  most  affectionate  of  men,  he  did 
not  love  little  sacrifices,  nor  make  them.  So  he 
went  —  with  a  reluctance  which  was  perfectly  evi 
dent  to  both  the  women  and  perfectly  understood 
by  both,  and  which  amused  them  both  not  a  little. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Stanton  is  very  fond  of  your  so 
ciety,"  said  the  Countess  softly,  when  the  door  had 
closed  behind  him. 

"  Of  yours,  I  think,"  replied  Priscilla,  as  softly. 

Then  they  talked  of  the  weather  for  a  few  mo 
ments.  Each  was  gauging  the  other. 

At  length  the  Countess  said  what  she  had  come 
to  say,  but  more  softly  and  politely  than  ever,  and 
as  if  she  were  speaking  of  the  weather  still.  "  I  am 
told  we  are  to  congratulate  you  on  your  approach 
ing  marriage,  Miss  Stanton  ?  " 

It  was  a  piece  of  supreme  insolence  and  Priscilla 
knew  it ;  but  she  kept  her  countenance  and  her 
temper.  Who  was  this  woman  that  she  should 


A   DUEL  229 

quarrel  with  her?  "Ah!  and  whom  am  I  to 
marry  ?  "  she  asked  calmly. 

The  Countess  played  confusion  with  easy  grace. 
"  I  beg  a  thousand  pardons,"  she  stammered.  "  I 
surely  heard  the  name  of  Mr.  Edgar  Payne  "  — 

Then  Priscilla  hit  back  without  gloves.  "  That 
is  odd.  Do  you  know,  I  had  heard  he  was  going  to 
marry  you  ?  " 

Antonia  took  the  blow  and  respected  her  op 
ponent  for  it ;  but  she  countered.  With  an  air  of 
innocence  as  natural  as  nature,  and  no  more  so, 
she  replied :  "  My  dear  Miss  Stanton,  is  n't  that 
curious.  But  you  have  been  altogether  misinformed. 
Mr.  Payne  seems  to  like  my  poor  residence.  Per 
haps  he  enjoys  the  ease  and  freedom  of  it.  But  — 
in  short,  I  assure  you  —  you  know  people  will 
talk  "  - 

"  Yes,  I  have  found  it  so  myself,"  Priscilla 
quietly  assented. 

Decidedly  this  was  to  be  no  easy  victory  and  the 
Countess  felt  it ;  but  she  went  on  in  the  same  tone : 
"  Some  one  must  have  misinformed  you  purposely, 
I  think.  So  many  people  have  an  interest  to  in 
jure  a  solitary  woman  like  myself." 

Then  Priscilla  made  a  mistake.  When  one  has 
a  candid  disposition  and  happens  to  be  in  love  for 
the  first  time,  one  is  woefully  hampered  in  contests 
of  this  nature.  "  I  had  my  information  from  a  very 
reliable  source,"  she  said. 

Antonia  smiled,  a  brief  little  gleam  of  a  wicked 


230  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

smile,  and  Priscilla  could  have  bitten  her  tongue  out. 
"  Ah,  yes,"  said  the  dark  lady,  "  I  see  where  the 
shot  came  from.  Naturally,  Mr.  Gordon  has  an  in 
terest  in  this  matter,  and  I  know  no  one  who  can 
have  more  the  appearance  of  being  a  reliable  source 
of  information  than  he,  —  when  he  chooses." 

Priscilla' s  pride  was  breaking  now.  Why  was 
this  creature  allowed  to  torture  her?  But  she 
would  fight  it  out  a  little  longer.  "  Mr.  Gordon  is 
an  old  friend  of  yours,  I  think  ?  "  she  asked,  with 
all  the  coldness  she  could  command. 

"  Indeed  he  is.  I  have  known  him  for  years  and 
known  him  well.  Very,  very  charming,  is  he  not  ? 
A  little  idle,  I  fear,  and  not  quite  genuine  —  espe 
cially  with  women.  There  are  stories  —  but  there, 
we  must  n't  gossip,  you  know."  Even  she  did  not 
dare  to  turn  the  screw  another  hair's  breadth ;  so 
she  resorted  to  the  weather  again  and  kindred  topics. 
In  a  few  minutes  she  rose  and  bowed  herself  out, 
with  the  same  unfailing  grace.  "  Do  remember  me 
to  your  mother,  my  dear.  I  am  so  sorry  to  have 
missed  her.  Nothing  would  make  me  more  proud 
than  to  see  both  of  you  at  24  Via  Ludovisi." 

Priscilla  made  little  or  no  response  to  this. 
When  she  was  alone,  she  threw  herself  down  on 
the  sofa,  buried  her  face  in  the  pillows,  and  wept. 
She  could  not  really  believe  that  Gordon  was  in 
love  with  this  woman.  Yet  why  not  ?  And  what 
could  an  artless  babe  like  herself  do  in  battle  with 
such  a  creature  ? 


CHAPTER  XIX 
EDGAR  SPEAKS  HIS  MIND 

MR.  STANTON,  as  well  as  Priscilla,  had  taken  a 
fancy  to  Gordon  ;  though  the  father's  was,  doubt 
less,  of  a  less  ardent  nature  than  the  daughter's. 
Gordon  did  not  always  have  this  luck  with  men. 
Women  liked  him  almost  invariably,  because  he 
almost  invariably  liked  them,  and  showed  it.  Men 
he  did  not  always  like ;  and  he  showed  that  also, 
even  when  policy  would  have  suggested  to  him  to 
conceal  it.  But  Mr.  Stanton  attracted  him  with 
something  of  Priscilla' s  restfulness ;  and  then, 
Priscilla' s  father  received  some  attentions  which 
were  expected  indirectly  to  reach  her.  Of  course, 
Mr.  Stanton  had  not  yet  thought  of  Gordon  as  a 
possible  son-in-law ;  but  he  had  reached  the  point 
where  such  an  idea  might  be  expected  to  come  to 
him  without  a  shock.  He  knew,  indeed,  that  Gor 
don  had  no  money  and  was  not  likely  to  have  any  ; 
but  he  cared  as  little  for  wealth  as  any  man  ever 
does  who  is  in  possession  of  it ;  and  the  marriage 
of  millions,  as  personified  in  Edgar  Payne,  had  dis 
gusted  him  sufficiently  to  make  him  quite  contented 
with  something  else. 

On   the   Sunday  afternoon  just  preceding   the 


232  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

Countess's  call  on  Priscilla,  Gordon  and  Mr.  Stan  ton 
had  strolled  together  for  an  hour  and  Gordon  had 
talked  over  some  of  his  difficulties.  It  goes  with 
out  saying  that  he  made  no  reference  to  his  own 
acquaintance  with  the  Countess ;  but  he  did  explain 
his  anxiety  as  to  Edgar's  situation  and  the  possibil 
ity  of  a  very  undesirable  marriage. 

"  It  would  be  just  good  enough  for  the  young 
cub,"  said  the  elder  gentleman,  who  did  not  like 
to  have  his  daughter  slighted,  even  by  the  veriest 
cub  in  existence.  "  Just  good  enough.  The  woman 
is  an  adventuress  pure  and  simple,  of  course  ?  " 

Gordon  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  She  is  hand 
some  —  and  very  clever." 

"  You  could  n't  buy  her  off  ?  Surely,  a  bright 
woman  would  rather  have  ten  thousand  dollars  than 
such  an  oaf  as  that  on  an  uncertainty." 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  was  Gordon's  somewhat  hes 
itating  answer.  "  From  what  I  hear,  she  is  a  lady 
whose  whims  are  more  to  her  than  any  amount  of 
money.  She  is  not  an  ordinary  personage.  Your 
uncle,  Mr.  Edwin  Stanton,  is  a  sworn  ally  of  hers." 

Mr.  Stanton  used  an  unquotable  word  not  strictly 
favorable  to  his  uncle's  powers  of  discrimination. 
Then  he  repeated :  "  Yes,  it  would  be  just  good 
enough  for  the  cub  himself ;  but  then  there  is  the 
cub's  father.  Poor  Harrison  !  After  all  the  hopes 
he  had  about  Edgar  and  Priscilla !  Bah !  The  very 
idea  makes  me  sick.  And  as  clear-sighted  a  man 
as  Harrison  Payne  cannot  really  —  no,  it  is  im- 


EDGAR   SPEAKS   HIS   MIND  233 

possible.  Now  that  I  have  seen  the  boy,  I  under 
stand  better  some  things  his  father  wrote  me  that 
seemed  queer  at  the  time.  By  the  way,  you  've 
written  to  Mr.  Payne  about  all  this,  of  course  ?  " 

"  Well,  no,"  said  Gordon  apologetically,  "  I 
have  n't  yet.  I  did  n't  see  what  he  could  possibly 
do  at  that  distance.  Then  I  hoped  it  would  blow 
over.  And  then  I  was  ashamed  of  myself." 

"  You  've  no  need  to  be,  by  George  !  I  'd  sooner 
run  the  Northern  Pacific  Road  than  take  the  con 
tract  you  've  got  on  your  hands." 

He  was  a  comforting  man,  Mr.  Stanton  ;  and 
Gordon  felt  him  to  be  so. 

For  a  few  minutes  they  walked  along  in  silence. 
At  length  Mr.  Stanton  said :  "  See  here,  I  don't 
feel  as  if  I  'd  done  the  right  thing  altogether  by 
that  boy.  I  was  so  disgusted  with  him  at  the  be 
ginning,  so  sick,  so  thoroughly  disappointed,  that 
it  seemed  as  if  I  could  n't  bear  the  sight  of  him. 
To  be  sure,  it 's  hard  work  to  get  a  sight  of  him ; 
but  my  heart  has  n't  been  in  it  hitherto.  Now  I  '11 
make  another  trial.  I'll  write  him  the  kindest 
note  I  know  how  and  beg  him  to  dine  with  me. 
If  he  comes,  I  '11  have  a  little  talk  with  him  about 
his  Countess  and  so  on." 

Gordon  shook  his  head  dubiously.  He  did  not 
think  Edgar  would  go  to  dinner ;  and  if  he  did,  it 
was  more  than  likely  that  Mr.  Stanton's  eloquence 
would  drive  him  in  the  wrong  direction.  It  seemed 
hardly  worth  while  to  mention  the  last  consideration, 


234  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

however.  As  to  the  first,  Mr.  Stanton  recognized 
the  force  of  it ;  but  thought  he  would  at  least  make 
the  attempt.  Then  Gordon,  thanking  him  for  his 
friendly  assistance,  went  his  way.  As  he  was  wan 
dering  slowly  homeward,  he  remembered  Edgar's 
threat  of  telling  Mr.  Stanton  his  suspicions  as  to 
his  tutor  and  Priscilla ;  but  it  did  not  seem  possible 
that  even  Edgar's  impudence  would  go  so  far  as 
that. 

When  Mr.  Stanton  reached  home,  he  wrote  the 
following  note :  "  Dear  Edgar,  —  I  feel  very  badly 
that  we  should  be  so  near  you  and  see  so  little 
of  you.  When  your  father  and  I  were  your  age, 
hardly  a  day  passed  that  we  were  not  together. 
And  now  that  I  have  a  chance  to  get  acquainted 
with "  —  he  tried  hard  to  write  "  to  love,"  but 
the  words  would  n't  come  —  "  his  son,  I  do  not 
want  to  lose  the  opportunity.  Can't  you  dine  with 
us  some  evening  ?  I  will  say  Tuesday  ;  —  but  any 
other  evening  that  suits  you  will  do  as  well  for  me. 
Do  come.  Affectionately  yours,  George  Stanton." 

Edgar  perused  this  friendly  epistle  with  a  shrewd 
grimace.  "  At  the  old  game  again,  is  he  ?  By  Jove, 
I  '11  go  there  and  settle  it  once  for  all."  So  he  an 
swered  as  follows :  "  Mr.  Stanton,  Dear  Sir,  —  Hav 
ing  no  other  engagement  on  Tuesday,  will  dine  with 
you  on  that  evening.  Yours  truly,  Edgar  Payne." 

Mr.  Stanton  did  not  show  this  note  to  his  wife 
and  daughter,  but  simply  announced  that  Edgar 
would  dine  with  them.  Mrs.  Stanton  consented  to 


EDGAR  SPEAKS   HIS   MIND  235 

make  the  sacrifice  under  the  circumstances,  and 
Priscilla,  though  she  expressed  some  annoyance, 
had  a  certain  curiosity  to  see  more  of  Gordon's 
pupil  and  the  Countess  Markovski's  future  hus 
band.  The  Stantons  had  long  since  made  them 
selves  perfectly  at  home  at  the  Hotel  Bristol,  and 
had  their  own  private  dining-room,  so  that  at  least 
they  would  escape  the  misery  of  exhibiting  their 
guest  to  strangers. 

Dinner  was  supposed  to  be  at  seven ;  but  Mr. 
Stanton  had  omitted  to  mention  the  fact,  and 
Edgar  consequently  appeared  at  a  quarter  past  six. 
Priscilla  was  in  the  drawing-room  alone,  as  her 
father  and  mother  had  come  in  late  and  had  only 
just  gone  to  dress.  She  was  somewhat  dismayed  at 
the  appearance  of  her  visitor,  but  then  she  thought, 
"  After  all,  he  can't  eat  me." 

She  rose  and  was  going  to  shake  hands  ;  but  he 
merely  nodded,  with  a  curt  "  how  d  'ye  do,"  and 
went  and  placed  himself  with  his  back  to  the  fire. 
Whereupon  Priscilla  sat  down  again. 

"  What  a  fine  day  it  has  been !  "  she  remarked, 
anxious  to  say  something  safe,  if  not  particularly 
brilliant. 

"  Oh,  yes,  if  you  like  it.  I  don't  care  for  any 
thing  in  Rome  myself." 

Priscilla  thought  she  would  let  him  start  the 
next  topic  and  waited  a  moment.  He  did  not  seem 
to  feel  the  silence  very  much ;  but  at  length,  after 
staring  at  her  for  a  little  while,  he  began  :  "  Say, 


236  THE  PRIVATE   TUTOR 

that  was  a  neat  thing  about  you  and  me,  was  n't 
it  ?  "  He  chuckled  grotesquely. 

"  About  you  and  me ?  "  Priscilla  answered;  and 
then  saw  she  had  made  a  mistake. 

"  Sure.  Who  would  it  be  about  ?  You  need  n't 
play  shy.  You  know  just  as  well  as  I  do  that  my 
father  and  your  father  had  it  all  patched  up  be 
tween  'em,  me  and  you  to  marry  —  and  say,  there 
would  have  been  money  though,  would  n't  there  ?  " 

"  Would  there  ?  "  said  Priscilla,  with  demure 
simplicity.  The  young  man's  impudence  was  so 
perfect  that  she  was  beginning  to  enjoy  it  and  to 
think  she  might  amuse  herself  a  little. 

Edgar  stared  at  her  again,  with  his  eyebrows 
raised.  "I  told  Gordy  they  couldn't  work  any 
such  put-up  job  as  that.  You  may  be  all  right  — 
I  'm  not  saying  anything  against  you.  But  you 
are  n't  my  kind." 

"  How  can  you  be  so  sure  ? "  It  would  have 
taken  keener  vision  than  Edgar's  to  see  the  fun 
under  the  grave  eyes  that  were  turned  toward  his. 

"  Is  she  trying  to  jolly  me  ?  "  he  thought  to  him 
self.  "  Hang  it,  no."  Then  he  replied  aloud,  "  Oh, 
I  can  tell  a  thing  or  two.  I  know  the  kind  of  wo 
man  I  want.  I  want  something  with  snap  and 
go  —  something  that  will  make  folks  look  at  me, 
don't  you  see  ?  " 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  am  not  like  that,"  said  Priscilla 
sadly,  gazing  down  at  her  hands  folded  in  her  lap. 

Edgar  was  puzzled.    It  could  n't  be,  it  could  n't 


EDGAR   SPEAKS   HIS   MIND  237 

be  that  this  simple,  silly  chit  was  trying  to  bluff 
him  !  Why,  not  even  Antonia  was  sandy  enough 
for  that.  He  looked  at  his  boots  for  a  moment  and 
frowned.  Then  he  began  again.  "  I  came  round 
to-night  because  I  saw  your  pa  could  n't  tell  when 
he  'd  got  enough,  and  I  thought  I  'd  fix  him  once 
for  all.  See?" 

Priscilla  was  startled  out  of  her  equanimity. 
Her  eyes  flashed,  as  she  cried  :  "  Do  you  mean  to 
say  "  —  Then  she  realized  that  she  was  foolish, 
and  that  her  father  was  able  to  take  care  of  him 
self  ;  so  she  wilted.  "  It  was  very  good  of  you  to 
take  all  that  trouble,"  she  concluded. 

Edgar  understood  less  and  less ;  but  on  the 
whole  he  thought  she  was  trying  to  make  fun  of 
him,  and  his  temper  got  a  little  unsteady.  "  Look 
here,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  believe  you  know  what 
you  've  lost.  I  can  tell  you  there  are  women  that 
do.  As  for  that  Gordon,  I  wish  you  joy  "  — 

But  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stanton  entered ;  and  Pris 
cilla  felt  that  their  arrival  was  very  opportune. 
How  she  should  have  met  this  last  attack  she  could 
not  imagine.  Indeed,  she  was  so  discomposed  at 
the  idea  of  it,  that  she  excused  herself  for  a  few 
moments  and  retired  to  her  own  apartment  to  think 
things  over.  Had  Gordon  really  confided  anything 
to  this  intolerable  creature  ?  Oh,  no !  It  was  quite 
impossible.  But  what  an  intolerable  creature  he 
was. 

It  is,  fortunately,  not  necessary  that  I  should 


238  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

dwell  upon  that  dinner.  A  novelist  has  some  char 
acters  with  whom  he  lingers  just  for  the  simple 
charm  of  every  word  and  gesture.  It  is  a  pleasure 
to  see  them  move  and  hear  them  speak  and  to  think 
their  thoughts.  But  there  are  others  whom  one 
exhibits  no  more  than  is  absolutely  necessary ;  and 
even  that  seems  sometimes  too  much. 

Mr.  Stanton  strove  with  all  his  might  to  keep 
the  conversation  on  general  topics.  But  no  matter 
what  the  topic  was,  Edgar  managed  to  give  it  a 
certain  twist,  which  kept  his  auditors  perpetually 
in  a  state  either  of  exasperation  at  what  had  just 
been  said  or  of  fear  of  what  he  might  say  next. 
When  questioned  about  his  father,  he  made  it  evi 
dent  that  he  regarded  that  gentleman  simply  as  a 
magnificent  machine  for  getting  money  and  show 
ering  it  on  his  son.  The  machine  was  a  success  and 
was  therefore  entitled  to  respect  —  that  was  all. 
When  questioned  as  to  his  boyhood,  it  appeared 
that  he  never  had  had  any.  When  questioned  as  to 
his  travels,  he  simply  poured  forth  a  flood  of  vulgar 
abuse  of  everything  and  every  person  European, 
which  did  more  credit  to  his  patriotism  than  to  his 
manners.  At  last,  Mr.  Stanton  referred  to  some  of 
his  former  business  experiences,  and  then  he  found 
that  he  had  struck  the  vein.  Edgar's  eyes  bright 
ened,  he  began  to  ask  questions  on  his  side,  and 
the  problem  of  talk  was  solved  for  the  moment. 
Indeed,  his  familiarity  with  the  history  of  the  stock 
market  for  the  last  twenty-five  years  astonished  the 


EDGAR  SPEAKS   HIS   MIND  239 

elder  gentleman,  and  would  have  interested  him,  if 
it  had  not  been  for  the  painful  vulgarity  with  which 
it  was  expressed  and  the  impudence  with  which  his 
own  failures  and  successes  were  discussed  and 
criticised. 

Such  as  it  was,  however,  the  conversation  lasted 
out  the  dessert ;  and  then,  Edgar  having  sat  quietly 
by  and  let  Mr.  Stanton  open  the  door  for  the  la 
dies,  the  two  gentlemen  found  themselves  alone 
with  their  wine  and  cigars. 

"  Pretty  good  drink  !  "  remarked  Edgar.  "  I 
can't  afford  anything  like  it.  What  do  you  have 
to  pay  for  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  I  'm  sure,"  answered  Mr.  Stan- 
ton  absently.  He  was  thinking  how  he  should  begin 
his  attack.  It  seemed  rather  difficult.  As  for  Edgar, 
he  had  no  wish  to  speak  unless  spoken  to,  and  fell 
to  thinking  of  the  Countess. 

On  the  whole,  a  gradual  approach  seemed  best. 
"  I  wish  your  father  were  here,"  the  elder  gentle 
man  observed  at  length. 

"  So  don't  I,"  said  Edgar,  with  a  slow  wink, 
sticking  his  thumbs  in  the  sleeves  of  his  waistcoat 
and  tilting  back  his  chair. 

"  There 's  nothing  I  should  enjoy  more  than 
wandering  about  Rome  with  him." 

"  Huh  !    There  's  nothing  I  should  enjoy  less." 

This  did  not  seem  very  promising.  So  Mr.  Stan- 
ton  started  in  another  direction.  "  Do  you  think, 
on  the  whole,"  he  began  rather  aimlessly  and,  as  he 


240  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

himself  felt,  rather  absurdly,  "  that  you  are  getting 
much  from  your  trip  over  here,  much  profit,  you 
know?" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  profit  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  mean,  as  everybody  does,  are  you  learn 
ing  much,  getting  much  education  from  these  dif 
ferent  countries  and  sights  and  so  on?" 

"  Hardly,"  said  Edgar.  "  Do  you  think  I  want 
to  be  a  professor  in  some  mouldy  old  college  ?  I 
like  to  see  the  pretty  women  over  here ;  but  I  can 
see  them  at  home." 

"  The  pretty  women  ! "  Mr.  Stanton  echoed. 
Here  was  his  opportunity.  He  went  on,  with  that 
amusing  mixture  of  would-be  knowingness  and  sol 
emn  reprehension  which  most  older  men  affect  when 
they  talk  to  young  men  on  such  matters.  "  The 
pretty  women !  Now,  my  dear  boy,  I  have  been 
thinking  that  I  ought  to  say  a  word  or  two  to  you 
about  that  very  thing.  You  know  people  will  talk 
foolishly  sometimes.  I  understand  they  are  begin 
ning  to  talk  a  little  about  you.  Of  course,  it  is  n't 
my  business  to  find  any  fault.  A  young  man  will 
have  his  fling.  It  was  so  in  my  own  day,  too.  But 
you  know,  I  stand,  as  it  were,  in  your  father's  place 
here  ;  and  sometimes  we  don't  realize  ourselves  just 
how  things  look  to  another  person  outside.  It's 
risky  to  get  one's  self  mixed  up  too  much  with  one 
particular  woman.  If  she  is  a  sharp  one,  and  most 
women  of  that  class  are,  one  is  apt  to  find  one's  self 
in  trouble  before  one  knows  it.  I  don't  mean  to 


EDGAR  SPEAKS   HIS   MIND  241 

preach  to  you,  of  course ;  but  it  seems  as  if  just  a 
friendly  word  in  the  right  place  —  that 's  all "  — 

Edgar  had  uttered  never  a  sound  during  this 
harangue  ;  but  he  stared  up  at  the  ceiling,  chewing 
the  end  of  his  cigar  viciously.  Now  he  burst  out : 
"  But  it  is  n't  all,  though.  Now,  look  here,  Stanton, 
you  just  listen  to  me.  I  can  see  through  you,  as 
plain  as  through  a  piece  of  window  glass  ;  and  I  want 
you  to  understand,  once  for  all,  it  won't  do  —  it 
won't  do.  That  daughter  of  yours  is  a  nice  enough 
girl,  I  dare  say.  Looks  like  a  china  doll ;  but  that 's 
nothing  to  me.  Only  you  just  get  on  to  the  fact 
that  she  don't  suit  and  she  won't  suit.  When  you 
understand  that,  perhaps  you  '11  quit  insulting  other 
women  who  are  just  as  good  as  she  is.  Oh,  if 
there  's  anything  I  do  hate,  it 's  these  people  who 
put  on  airs  because  others  ain't  good  enough  for 
'em.  See?" 

Mr.  Stanton  hardly  did  see.  He  was  too  full  and 
overflowing  with  wrath  to  see  much  of  anything. 
"  My  daughter  !  "  he  gasped.  "  My  daughter  ! 
Young  man,  I  think  you  'd  better  go,  before  I 
say  anything  more !  "  He  stood  up,  but  he  was  so 
shaken  by  passion  that  he  had  to  rest  his  hand  on 
the  back  of  his  chair. 

"  Who  cares  what  you  say  ?  ''  ejaculated  Edgar, 
rising  also  and  moving  towards  the  door.  "  Oh, 
yes,  I  '11  go ;  but  I  ?11  tell  you  another  thing  first. 
Gordy  's  going  to  run  off  with  the  bone.  Oh,  ho ! 
What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  She  '11  take  up  with 


242  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

him,  that  sanctimonious  daughter  of  yours.  I  dare 
say  she  'D  run  away  with  him.  He  's  a  beggar,  you 
know,  and  always  will  be.  What  do  you  think  of 
that  ?  "  So  saying,  the  young  man  left  the  room 
and  slammed  the  door. 

Mr.  Stanton  made  his  way  into  the  parlor,  in  a 
state  of  mind  unusual  with  him ;  for  he  was  not 
a  choleric  man.  When  there,  he  paced  irregularly 
up  and  down,  uttering  broken  ejaculations,  to  the 
utter  amazement  of  Mrs.  Stanton  and  Priscilla ; 
although  the  latter,  considering  her  own  experience 
before  dinner,  was  less  astonished  than  her  mother. 
"  The  cub !  The  insolent,  low-bred  cub  !  When  I 
was  giving  him  a  piece  of  friendly  advice  to  go 
and  abuse  me  like  a  pickpocket.  I  insult  —  My 
daughter,  indeed  —  my  daughter  !  —  Psha !  —  dam 
nation  !  "  —  Then,  happening  to  pass  directly  in 
front  of  Mrs.  Stanton,  he  noticed  the  expression  of 
blank  bewilderment  on  her  face,  stopped  a  mo 
ment,  and  burst  out  into  a  hearty  peal  of  natural 
laughter.  Blessed  be  the  broad  and  happy  temper 
which  can  find  matter  for  mirth  in  its  own  mistakes 
and  mishaps  as  well  as  in  those  of  others. 

"  A  piece  of  true  comedy,  my  dear,"  he  said. 
"  The  fellow  ought  to  be  on  the  stage  or  in  a 
novel.  I  played  myself  right  into  his  hands,  after 
all.  He  thought  I  was  still  trying  to  catch  him  for 
that  girl  there,"  and  he  looked  fondly  towards  Pris 
cilla,  who,  at  the  moment,  was  embroidering  very 
busily  and  kept  her  eyes  close  on  her  work.  "  If 


EDGAR  SPEAKS   HIS   MIND  243 

he  thought  so,  it  was  natural  that  he  should  give 
me  a  piece  of  his  mind ;  though,  as  the  other  fel 
low  said,  his  language  would  have  been  impudent 
from  God  Almighty  to  a  black  beetle."  Then  he 
added  more  softly  and  thoughtfully :  "  He  also 
tried  to  annoy  me  by  suggesting  that  Gordon 
wanted  to  marry  our  Pris.  I  suppose  he  would 
lie  a  little  more  easily  than  he  would  speak  the 
truth.  But  I  like  Gordon.  He 's  a  gentleman 
and  a  straightforward,  honorable  fellow.  And,  by 
George,  he  deserves  a  gold  mine,  after  all  he  's 
been  through  with  that  cub.  Well,  now  I  '11  go 
finish  my  cigar  in  peace." 

When  he  had  left  the  room,  the  two  ladies  were 
silent  for  a  moment.  "  Mamma,"  said  Priscilla  at 
length,  still  keeping  her  eyes  on  her  work,  "  did 
you  hear  what  papa  said  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear,"  answered  her  mother  gently. 

"  Do  you  agree  with  him  ?  " 

"Do  you?" 

"  Yes,  mamma." 

"  Then,  my  dear,  I  agree  with  you." 


CHAPTER  XX 
THE  MAGIC   OF  THE  MOON 

SINCE  his  drive  with  Priscilla,  Gordon  had  re 
flected  more  than  usual.  It  seemed  that  he  was 
always  reflecting  nowadays,  and  it  bored  him.  The 
result  of  his  reflection  was,  however,  a  certain 
modification  of  his  attitude  toward  the  young  lady. 
He  still  felt  that  he  had  no  reason  at  all  to  sup 
pose  that  she  cared  anything  for  him ;  but  it  was 
getting  very  evident  that  he  cared  a  great  deal  for 
her.  Under  the  circumstances  what  was  to  be 
done  ?  Was  it  necessary  that  he  should  give  her 
up,  simply  because  of  the  peculiar  circumstances 
under  which  they  had  met  ?  If  he  really  cared  for 
her  and  if,  by  any  chance,  she  was  beginning  to 
care  for  him,  would  not  such  a  separation  be  fan 
tastic,  Quixotic?  It  was  true,  he  had  been  com 
missioned  to  see  her  married  to  somebody  else.  But 
had  he  not  done  what  he  could  to  bring  about  such 
a  consummation  ?  Would  he  not,  even  now,  most 
gladly  give  way  to  Edgar,  if  such  a  thing  were 
possible,  conceivable  even  ?  Was  it  not  absolutely 
certain  that,  if  he  had  never  come  near  Priscilla, 
such  a  marriage  would  have  been  just  as  much  out 
of  the  question  as  it  was  at  present?  As  he  de- 


THE  MAGIC  OF  THE  MOON          245 

bated  this  difficulty,  in  the  intervals  of  debating 
that  other  difficulty  about  Edgar  and  the  Countess 
Markovski,  he  smiled  again  and  again  at  the  ludi- 
crousness  of  it  all.  Was  ever  before  an  idle,  profit 
less  young  man  so  tossed  and  gored  on  the  horns 
of  disagreeable  moral  dilemmas?  But  the  upshot 
was  the  decision  that,  when  he  was  once  out  of  his 
present  situation,  he  would  address  himself  to  the 
wooing  of  Miss  Priscilla  Stanton,  without  fear  or 
delay.  It  was  true  she  was  rich  and  he  was  poor ; 
but  he  was  quite  clear  with  himself  that  if  he  mar 
ried  her,  it  would  not  be  for  her  money.  Indeed, 
he  thought  it  more  than  probable  that  her  father 
would  refuse  his  money,  perhaps  even  his  consent. 
So  much  the  better.  An  incentive  for  work  was 
just  what  our  hero  felt  that  he  needed.  It  was  time 
he  did  work. 

For  the  present,  the  thing  to  do  was  to  get 
clear  of  the  Payne  connection,  as  speedily  as  was 
consistent  with  doing  his  best  for  all  parties 
concerned.  Here  he  gave  a  few  moments'  thought 
to  the  suggestion,  which  had  disturbed  him  a  little 
ever  since  it  was  made  by  Priscilla  and  re-made  by 
her  father,  as  to  buying  the  Countess  off.  Doubt 
less,  Mr.  Payne  would  gladly  give  ten  thousand 
dollars,  or  a  hundred  thousand  dollars,  to  get 
Edgar  out  of  such  a  scrape.  Yet,  after  all,  would 
he  ?  He  was  a  man  who  did  not  like  to  be  done. 
In  the  present  case  he  would  be  very  apt  to  be 
more  angry  with  Edgar  than  with  Antonia,  and  to 


246  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

say  that  he  had  richly  deserved  his  fate.  More 
over,  Gordon  himself  was  unable  to  overcome  his 
repugnance  to  such  bargaining.  Antonia  might 
accept  a  bribe  or  she  might  not.  In  any  case,  he 
was  not  the  person  to  offer  it  to  her.  Nor  would 
he.  With  this  decision,  he  put  the  question  en 
tirely  on  one  side. 

He  then  wrote  a  letter  to  Mr.  Payne,  as  Mr. 
Staiiton  had  suggested,  stating  the  facts  in  regard 
to  Edgar's  present  position,  explaining  the  apparent 
impossibility  of  the  Stanton  marriage,  and  asking 
for  advice  and  directions.  This  he  did,  although 
conscious  that  advice  and  directions  from  that 
quarter  could  hardly  arrive  in  time,  if  they  were 
really  needed.  He  said  not  a  word  about  himself 
and  Priscilla,  feeling  that  he  could  not  do  so  as 
yet  with  any  justice  to  her.  Meantime  was  he  to 
avoid  her  entirely  ?  He  did  not  see  why.  He  had 
made  up  his  mind  as  to  the  future  and  certainly 
nothing  definite  need  be  said  at  present.  Indeed, 
he  hardly  saw  how  he  could  avoid  her  without  what 
must  seem  like  gratuitous  discourtesy. 

His  conclusions  on  this  point  were  tested,  when, 
on  Thursday  morning,  he  received  the  following 
note  :  "  Dear  Mr.  Gordon,  —  We  are  going  to  visit 
the  Colosseum  by  moonlight  this  evening  and  should 
be  very  glad  to  have  you  continue  your  Cicero 
nian  functions,  if  you  feel  so  disposed.  Sincerely 
yours,  Priscilla  Stanton."  Priscilla  had  hesitated 
some  time  before  writing  this.  She  was  by  no 


THE   MAGIC   OF  THE   MOON          247 

means  anxious  to  run  after  Gordon ;  and  it  was 
very  clear  that  hitherto  most  of  the  invitations  had 
come  from  her.  On  the  other  hand,  he  had  always 
been  ready  to  accept  them,  and,  so  far  as  she  could 
tell,  he  had  always  enjoyed  himself  when  he  did 
accept  them.  She  was  not  without  a  shrewd  sus 
picion  of  the  scruples  and  reserves  which  held  him 
back  from  seeking  her  society.  "  He  is  unwilling 
to  step  in  between  Edgar  and  me,"  she  thought. 
"  Pooh !  As  if  that  were  a  reason !  "  So  she  wrote 
her  note  as  above.  Needless  to  say  that  Gordon 
was  more  than  willing  to  go. 

They  left  the  hotel  at  half-past  eight.  Uncle 
Edwin  had  joined  the  party,  also  Mr.  Parsons, 
who  was  delighted  to  visit  the  Colosseum,  or  any 
place  where  he  could  talk.  Priscilla  had  insisted  on 
walking  both  ways,  rather  to  the  disgust  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Stanton,  who  were  not  much  accustomed  to 
that  form  of  locomotion.  The  young  lady  greeted 
Gordon  kindly.  Nevertheless,  she  attached  her 
self,  on  starting,  to  her  father  and  the  two  older 
gentlemen,  leaving  the  younger  cavalier  to  escort 
her  mother's  somewhat  lagging  footsteps.  That 
matter  of  the  Countess  was  rankling  still  just  a 
little,  and  Priscilla  hoped  to  clear  her  mind  of  it 
before  the  evening  was  over.  Meantime,  she  did 
not  wish  Gordon  to  think  she  was  too  hungry  for 
his  society.  If  she  had  any  idea  of  making  him 
jealous  by  such  conduct  or  of  troubling  him  in  any 
way,  she  did  not  yet  know  the  man  she  was  dealing 


248  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

with.  He  was  thoroughly  in  love  with  her,  and 
knew  he  was  ;  but  his  disposition  did  not  permit 
him  to  take  such  small  matters  in  dudgeon,  espe 
cially  when  such  taking  would  have  involved  any 
neglect  of  gentle  courtesy  to  a  lady.  So  he  devoted 
himself  entirely  to  Mrs.  Stanton,  lingered  long  to 
chat  with  her  by  the  Fountain  of  Trevi  and  the 
Column  of  Trajan,  which  stood  out  sharp  and  clear 
in  the  moonlight,  and  did  not  arrive  at  the  Forum 
until  Mr.  Parsons  had  delivered  at  least  two 
tirades  on  the  vulgarity  of  wealth  and  the  obsoles 
cence  of  war.  We  may  fully  acquit  Gordon  of 
calculation  in  the  matter  ;  yet  it  is  certain  that 
Mrs.  Stanton  liked  him  better  afterwards.  What 
stout  mother  of  fifty  is  not  pleased  to  have  her 
daughter's  young  man  talk  to  her  for  half  an  hour, 
without  an  obvious  desire  to  be  somewhere  else  ? 

Then  they  passed  around  to  the  south  side  of 
the  Forum  under  the  Palatine,  where  they  were 
themselves  in  darkness  and  could  look  out  upon  the 
moonlit  scene  below  them.  It  was  very  beautiful. 
The  rough  angles  and  harsh  colors  of  the  ruins  were 
softened  and  mellowed.  Vague  depths  of  shadow 
lay  under  the  crumbling  arches;  and  the  broken 
columns  reflected  their  uneven  heights  on  the 
marble  pavement.  Over  opposite,  the  Basilica  of 
Constantine  rose  gigantic,  filled  full  of  rich  light, 
which  gleamed  and  glittered  on  the  fragments  of 
sculpture  scattered  over  the  floor.  Uncle  Edwin 
recalled  to  them  all,  with  a  word  or  two,  the  tre- 


THE  MAGIC   OF  THE   MOON          249 

mendous  contrast  of  past  and  present,  the  hurrying 
throngs  which  had  crowded  that  little  space  to  hear 
Cicero  and  to  slay  Clodius,  the  idlers  who  had 
lingered  there  in  the  days  of  Horace,  cheating  and 
gossiping,  the  strange  and  motley  tumults  of  the 
later  empire,  when  a  discontented  regiment  unset 
tled  the  fate  of  the  world.  And  all  was  quiet  now, 
ruined,  absolutely  gone,  that  old  Roman  fame  a 
plaything  for  the  curiosity  and  pity  of  mankind. 
"  In  the  same  way,"  said  Mr.  Parsons,  "  in  a 
thousand  years,  the  native  of  Sydney  or  Auckland 
will  travel  to  inspect  the  ruins  of  Washington. 
But  no,  because  the  ruins  of  Washington  will 
hardly  last  like  these.  They  were  a  great  people  — 
a  great  people  —  a  great  people  —  hum  —  hum 
—  hum."  Then,  after  gazing  a  moment  in  silence, 
he  went  on:  "But  for  all  that,  the  present  is  with 
us  —  the  present  is  ours  and  that  is  enough.  Who 
cries  out  for  the  past,  or  sighs  for  it,  its  old  customs, 
its  dead  aristocracies,  its  faded  religions  ?  I  do  not. 
Even  the  art  of  the  past  —  let  it  go.  Nothing  is 
good  that  we  do  not  make  for  ourselves.  If  a  man 
wants  to  be  an  artist,  let  him  fill  himself  with  life, 
life,  and  not  go  mumbling  over  the  skeletons  of  an 
other  age.  That  is  the  trouble  with  American  lit 
erature.  It  is  all  a  pale  reproduction  of  Europe. 
Longfellow  —  Whittier  —  they  call  that  poetry. 
When  a  people  has  such  a  grand,  new,  glorious 
country  as  ours,  they  should  never  look  back.  The 
future  !  The  future  !  All  is  there." 


250  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

"  Perhaps  I  am  mistaken,  Mr.  Parsons,"  said 
Priscilla,  who  took  some  liberties  with  her  friend 
which  he  would  have  resented  in  a  young  man ; 
"  but  I  think  that  the  other  day  I  heard  you  pro 
claiming  the  exact  opposite." 

"  Did  you  ?  I  dare  say.  I  contradict  everybody 
else,  and  why  not  myself  ?  " 

Then  they  made  their  way  onwards,  passing 
through  the  eastern  end  of  the  Forum  into  the  Via 
Sacra,  and  so,  by  the  Arch  of  Titus,  down  the  long 
slope  to  the  Colosseum.  Inside  the  huge  building 
numerous  groups  of  sight-seers,  attracted  like  them 
selves  by  the  splendor  of  the  night,  were  scattered 
about,  some  here  and  there  in  the  arena,  others  dot 
ting  the  vast  circles  of  the  sides  with  shifting  black 
points.  But  where  a  hundred  thousand  Romans 
had  established  themselves  comfortably,  a  few  dozen 
Americans,  English,  and  Germans  did  not  do  much 
to  break  the  solitude.  It  was  indeed  a  solitude, 
singularly  so  in  that  clear  tide  of  moonlight,  which 
added  just  the  element  of  mystery  necessary  for 
perfect  charm.  The  whole  inner  surface  of  the 
building,  where  it  was  flattened  into  the  sloping 
tiers,  was  fully  illuminated ;  but  this  even,  shining 
level  was  constantly  broken  by  the  sharp  shadows 
of  projecting  fragments,  by  vague,  dim  openings, 
filled  with  mystery,  beginning  nowhere  and  ending 
in  nothing.  Now  and  again  a  little  group  of  peo 
ple  would  plunge  into  one  of  these  gulfs.  Faint 
sounds  of  voices  and  laughter  would  tinkle  in  the 


THE   MAGIC   OF   THE   MOON          251 

darkness.  Then  the  figures  would  emerge  again 
elsewhere.  Overhead  glittered,  clear  and  quiet, 
the  sparkling  clusters  of  the  winter  stars. 

Our  friends  all  remained  standing,  for  a  time, 
in  the  centre  of  the  arena.  "  Ah,"  began  Priscilla, 
"  I  have  never  before  seen  anything  like  this.  It 
seems  as  if  the  ghosts  of  the  martyrs  were  in  every 
one  of  these  shadows." 

"  Oh,  no,"  laughed  Gordon,  "  only  malaria.  The 
spirits  of  a  hundred  years  ago,  or  two  or  three  hun 
dred  years  ago,  are  all  reduced  to  germs  at  present. 
Such  is  science." 

"  Science  has  never  really  dispelled  the  mystery 
of  life  —  or  of  death  —  and  never  can,"  muttered 
uncle  Edwin,  who  had  all  a  transcendentalist's  hor 
ror  of  nineteenth-century  positivism. 

"  And  life  —  and  death  —  they  are  at  the  bot 
tom  of  all  mystery,  are  n't  they  ? "  Mr.  Stanton 
suggested. 

"  It  is  at  times  like  this  that  you  have  to  turn 
to  Shelley,"  said  Mr.  Parsons.  "  Wordsworth  for 
bright  summer  mornings,  when  the  wind  sweeps 
through  sunlit  grass,  and  the  white  clouds,  loaded 
with  sunlight,  roll  over  you.  Keats  for  sunny  nooks 
in  autumn,  yellow  and  purple,  with  the  rich  flavors 
of  harvest.  Byron  for  storm  and  the  wrath  of  rains 
and  lightnings.  Shelley  for  the  unearthly  quiet  of 
moonlight  and  midnight,  soft  creeping  motions, 
vague,  breathless  whispers,  infinite  depths  of  ele 
mental  suggestion,  a  musical  sob  of  language  that 


252  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

harmonizes  in  the  most  intimate  inwardness  with 
the  feeling  expressed. 

'  The  sun  is  set,  the  swallows  are  asleep  ; 

The  bats  are  flitting  fast  in  the  gray  air ; 
The  slow,  soft  toads  out  of  damp  corners  creep  ; 

And  evening's  breath,  wandering  here  and  there 
Over  the  quivering  surface  of  the  stream 
Wakes  not  one  ripple  from  its  summer  dream.' 

Vital  tranquillity  —  that  is  what  you  have  in  those 
verses,  that  is  what  we  have  here  in  a  different  way 
—  vital  tranquillity  "  — 

So  Mr.  Parsons.  But  Gordon  and  Priscilla, 
who  were  perhaps  more  vital  than  tranquil  on  this 
occasion,  were  not  contented  to  leave  the  expres 
sion  of  their  feelings  wholly  to  Mr.  Parsons,  or 
even  to  Shelley.  "  Why  don't  we  climb  up  there, 
Miss  Stanton,  and  plunge  into  some  of  the  black 
gulfs  ourselves?" 

"  I  certainly  propose  to.  Mamma,  will  you 
come?" 

"  No,  dear,  I  think  not.  I  have  had  all  the  ex 
ercise  I  want  and  am  quite  ready  for  a  cab  home. 
We  will  wait  here  a  little  while  for  you.  Don't  be 
gone  long." 

Side  by  side  the  two  climbed  the  ragged  steps, 
as  actively  as  a  pair  of  chamois.  On  one  of  the 
upper  tiers  they  sat  down,  in  the  shadow  of  a  gaunt 
doorway,  and  gazed  at  the  great  amphitheatre  be 
neath,  reeking,  as  Gordon  said,  with  spectres,  from 
Flavian  to  Daisy  Miller.  But  Priscilla  had  not 
come  there  for  spectres. 


THE   MAGIC   OF  THE   MOON          253 

"  I  had  a  call  the  other  day  —  from  whom  do 
you  think?"  she  began. 

"  Edgar,  perhaps  ?  "    Gordon  suggested. 

"  No,  though  we  did  have  him  to  dinner  —  and 
such  a  dinner.  This  was  another  friend  of  yours." 

"  I  can't  imagine  "  — 

"  The  Countess  Markovski." 

Gordon  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Below  them, 
in  the  wondrous  moonlit  calm,  they  could  just 
catch  Mr.  Parsons' s  voice,  repeating  the  last  line 
of  "  The  Question  "  — 

"  '  That  I  might  there  present  it  —  Oh,  to  whom  ?  ' " 

"  The  Countess  Markovski  ?    Why  ?  " 

"  Charmed  with  me,  I  suppose." 

"  Of  course.  Did  she  —  a  —  tell  you  her  his 
tory?  It  is  a  mania  she  has." 

"  She  was  more  inclined  to  foretell,  I  think." 

There  was  another  silence  and  again  the  voices 
from  below,  but  indistinct. 

"  She  is  a  very  charming  person,"  Priscilla  said 
indifferently. 

«  Very." 

"  Clever,  I  should  say." 

"  Immensely  clever." 

"  You  admire  her  very  much  ?  " 

« I  do." 

Then  followed  another  question,  which  Pris 
cilla  would  have  kept  back  if  she  could  ;  but  she 
could  n't :  "  You  are  very  much  interested  in  her  ?" 


254  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

"  I  was  very  much  interested,  as  you  say,  in  her, 
at  one  time."  Gordon  spoke  with  the  slow,  color 
less  tone  which  often  adds  weight  to  the  most  im 
portant  words.  "  I  am  interested  in  some  one  else 
now." 

"  She  rather  implied,"  Priscilla  went  on,  once 
more  against  her  will,  "  that  your  statements  were 
not  —  altogether  to  be  trusted." 

"  Did  she  ?  "  Gordon  spoke  without  the  least 
irritation.  "  What  can  I  do  about  it  ?  I  must 
leave  you  to  your  personal  impression  of  her  and 
me."  Could  he  have  said  anything  better  ?  So 
Priscilla  thought,  at  any  rate,  and  was  satisfied. 

But  at  that  interesting  moment  Mrs.  Stanton's 
voice  was  heard  in  the  calm  air.  "  Priscilla,  dear, 
come  now." 

"  Yes,  mamma,"  said  Priscilla  dutifully ;  but 
she  was  not  well  pleased  with  her  mother  just 
then. 

"  We  cannot  freeze  here  any  longer,"  urged 
that  lady,  when  her  daughter  had  descended. 
"  We  are  all  going  to  ride  home.  You  will  come 
too,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Oh,  mamma,  I  had  so  much  rather  walk." 

"  But  Mr.  Gordon  has  walked  enough,  I  im 
agine."  Mrs.  Stanton  had  a  bit  of  the  salt  of  mis 
chief  mixed  with  the  gravity  of  age.  Gordon, 
however,  protested  that  he  never  rode,  unless  in 
his  own  carriage.  "Very  well,  then.  But  you 
must  come  right  along.  It  is  getting  late." 


THE  MAGIC  OF  THE  MOON          255 

"  Yes,  mamma." 

So  the  elders  departed,  Mr.  Parsons  and  Mr. 
Stanton  carrying  on  an  active  conversation  as  to 
the  Panama  Canal,  a  subject  on  which  they  fortu 
nately  agreed. 

Priscilla  and  Gordon  stood  for  a  moment  alone, 
listening  to  the  echo  of  Mr.  Parsons's  sonorous 
declamation  and  looking  up  at  the  moonlit  ruins. 
"  I  suppose  we  must  go,"  said  Priscilla. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  Gordon  agreed,  somewhat 
doubtfully.  "  Duty  is  what  one  does  not  want  to 
do.  That  is  a  sure  mark  to  know  it  by." 

When  they  had  left  the  building,  Gordon  sug 
gested  that  they  should  return  by  the  Via  dei  Ser- 
penti  and  the  Quirinal  Piazza,  so  as  to  get  the 
view  of  the  city  in  the  moonlight.  He  gave  his 
arm  to  his  companion  and  they  walked  on  slowly, 
each  burning  to  speak,  each  realizing  that  the  pre 
cious  minutes  of  solitude  in  that  entrancing  atmos 
phere  were  slipping  away  from  them,  yet  neither 
ready  or  able  to  say  the  only  thing  each  wished  to 
say. 

At  length  Gordon  broke  the  silence :  "As  con 
versation  does  n't  seem  to  be  very  active,  perhaps 
I  might  beguile  the  tedious  way  by  telling  you  a 
little  story." 

Priscilla  thought  she  did  not  want  to  hear  a 
little  story ;  so  she  said  nothing.  But,  after  the 
first  few  words,  she  changed  her  mind,  and  showed 
it  unconsciously  by  just  the  least  little  pressure  of 


256  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

her  fingers  on  the  story-teller's  arm.  "  This  is  it," 
Gordon  went  on.  "  Once  upon  a  time,  in  a  far 
eastern  country,  there  was  a  very  wise  and  a  very 
rich  old  king.  This  king  had  one  son,  who  was 
neither  wise,  nor  rich,  nor  amiable ;  but,  being  an 
only  son  and  heir  to  the  kingdom,  his  father  was 
anxious  to  do  what  he  could  to  make  him  worthy 
of  his  high  position.  Now  it  happened  that  in  an 
other  country  far  away  'from  that  one  there  was 
preserved,  in  an  old  temple,  a  very  beautiful  dia 
mond,  which  was  not  only  beautiful,  but  had  the 
curious  and  exceptional  property  of  making  any  one 
who  could  succeed  in  getting'  possession  of  it  for 
tunate  and  happy  forever  after.  Only,  it  was  a  dif 
ficult  thing  to  get  possession  of  it.  So  many  had 
tried  and  tried  in  vain  that  common  people  had  al 
most  given  up  the  attempt.  The  king  whom  I  am 
telling  you  of,  however,  thought  that  his  son  had 
better  make  the  venture  and  would  be  very  likely 
to  succeed. ,  Surely,  a  king 's  son  must  succeed,  no 
matter  who  had  failed.  So  he  selected  from  among 
his  friends  and  counselors  a  very  wise  old  man, 
who  had  been  particularly  fortunate  in  directing 
his  own  concerns  all  his  life,  and  ordered  him  to 
take  the  prince  in  charge,  escort  him  to  the  far 
country,  and  bring  him  safely  home,  after  the  ad 
venture  of  the  diamond  should  be  achieved. 

"  The  wise  old  man  was  a  little  too  wise  to  like 
the  undertaking.  As  he  got  on  further  and  saw 
more  of  the  prince,  he  liked  it  less.  Indeed,  he 


THE   MAGIC   OF   THE   MOON          257 

soon  came  to  feel  that  the  end  of  the  journey 
would  be  one  of  the  pleasantest  events  of  a  long 
and  not  unpleasant  career.  He  had  more  reason 
still  to  feel  so,  before  the  end  came. 

"  Well,  they  reached  the  far  country  at  last  and 
they  found  the  diamond.  What  happened  ?  In  the 
first  place,  it  became  evident  that  the  prince,  prince 
though  he  was,  could  not  get  the  diamond.  It  ap 
peared  that  when  the  right  person  should  come,  he 
would  have  nothing  to  do  but  reach  out  his  hand, 
and  the  precious  stone  would  be  lifted  from  its 
place,  as  easily  as  a  pebble ;  but  at  the  touch  of 
the  wrong  hand,  it  remained  rooted  in  its  socket, 
so  that  dynamite  could  not  stir  it.  Now  the 
prince's  hand  was  the  wrong  hand.  What  is  more, 
although  his  tu —  although  the  wise  old  man  suc 
ceeded  in  persuading  him  to  make  one  or  two 
feeble  efforts,  he  soon  lost  his  interest  in  the  dia 
mond  ;  indeed,  he  had  never  felt  very  much. 

"  It  so  happened  that  in  the  very  same  temple,  all 
about  the  diamond,  were  gorgeous  bits  of  colored 
glass,  cheap,  but  showy  to  the  inexperienced  eye. 
Whoever  chose  one  of  these,  instead  of  the  real 
jewel,  cut  himself  off  from  the  diamond  forever. 
The  unlucky  prince  no  sooner  cast  his  eye  on  a 
particularly  sparkling  green  gewgaw  then  he  de 
clared  that  he  must  have  it.  Diamonds  were  no 
thing  compared  to  such  a  treasure  as  this.  The 
wise  old  man  argued,  persuaded,  commanded  —  in 
vain.  The  prince  possessed  himself  of  his  choice 


258  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

bit  of  sparkling  vanity,  and  there  the  story  ends, 
as  regards  him. 

"  Meantime,  the  wise  old  man,  who  was  neither  so 
old  nor  so  wise  as  he  ought  to  have  been,  had  got 
it  into  his  head  that  he  should  like  to  have  a  try  at 
the  diamond  himself.  He  was  not  vain  enough  to 
be  confident.  He  was  a  little  too  wise  and  too  old 
for  that.  But  some  things  had  given  him  a  hope, 
a  sort  of  presentiment.  You  see  it  was  a  foolish 
old  man  after  all.  Now,  under  all  the  circum 
stances,  what  do  you  think  he  ought  to  do  ?  Does 
honor  require  that  he  should  put  that  diamond  out 
of  his  mind,  trudge  wearily  back  to  his  own  coun 
try,  and  face  the  anger  of  the  king  all  for  nothing?  " 

They  had  come  out  into  the  great  piazza  in  front 
of  the  Quirinal  Palace,  and  were  standing  at  the 
foot  of  the  noble  statues,  gazing  over  the  city,  which 
lay  quiet  in  the  witchery  of  the  moonlight.  Pris- 
cilla  did  not  speak  for  a  moment.  Gordon  could 
feel  the  tremulous  pressure  of  her  fingers  on  his 
arm.  At  length  she  said  softly,  but  decidedly:  "I 
think  the  wise  old  man  would  do  wrong  if  he  went 
back  so.  If  the  diamond  was  really  for  him,  if  his 
hand  was  the  right  hand  and  no  other,  surely  it 
was  his  duty  to  stay  and  take  the  stone  and  profit 
by  it." 

They  spoke  no  more  then  on  the  matter  of  dia 
monds  ;  but  as  they  stood  there  in  the  soft  moon 
light,  looking  over  the  black  dome  of  St.  Peter's 
into  the  west,  towards  home,  Priscilla  felt  a  deli- 


THE   MAGIC   OF  THE   MOON          259 

cious,  quiet,  fulfilling  ecstasy  of  joy  which  she  had 
never  even  dreamed  of  before. 

While  they  were  walking  slowly  back,  through 
the  shadowy  streets,  to  the  hotel,  Gordon  told  his 
companion  just  what  the  immediate  situation  was. 
He  had  written  to  Mr.  Payne,  explaining  the  whole 
state  of  affairs,  so  far  as  Edgar  was  concerned,  and 
asking  for  advice  as  to  what  he  should  do.  He 
thought  it  very  probable  that  Mr.  Payne  would 
come  over  himself.  In  that  case  he,  Gordon,  would 
be  free,  his  own  man  again,  with  obligations  to  no 
one.  If  Mr.  Payne  did  not  come,  the  freedom  would 
necessarily  be  deferred  for  a  time.  But  the  chief 
object  now  was  to  obtain  such  freedom,  just  as  soon 
as  was  consistent  with  what  he  felt  to  be  his  duty 
in  the  task  he  had  undertaken.  He  explained  all 
this  in  clear,  business-like  language,  without  a  word 
of  sentiment;  but  Priscilla  understood  him  per 
fectly.  She  did  not  sleep  much  that  night,  nor 
Gordon  either. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
A  BUSINESS  PROPOSITION 

FOR  four  or  five  days  after  the  evening  at  the 
Colosseum,  Gordon  heard  nothing  of  the  Countess 
or  of  Priscilla,  and  saw  very  little  of  Edgar ;  but 
he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  wait,  and  he  waited. 
Finally  he  received  one  morning  a  little  note  in  the 
well-known  handwriting,  with  the  black  coronet  on 
the  envelope.  "  She  won't  like  giving  up  that  coro 
net,"  he  thought  to  himself,  as  he  examined  the 
contents  of  the  epistle.  They  were  as  follows : 
"  Dear  Mr.  Gordon,  —  Could  you  make  it  conven 
ient  to  call  on  me  this  afternoon,  on  a  matter  of 
business,  about  five  o'clock  ?  If  it  were  not  impor 
tant,  I  would  not  trouble  you.  Sincerely  yours, 
Antonia  Markovski." 

Now  what  was  all  this  about  ?  When  he  called 
on  her  last,  she  had  said  that  it  would  be  better 
for  him  not  to  come  again ;  and  when  she  had  said 
so,  she  had  expressed  his  own  feelings  exactly. 
What  did  she  want  ?  Well,  there  was  one  simple 
way  to  find  out.  To  be  sure,  he  did  not  care  par 
ticularly  about  finding  out.  Still  it  was  clear  that 
he  must  go. 

Then  there  came  once  more  into  his  mind  that 


A  BUSINESS  PROPOSITION  261 

question  of  buying  off.  Now  was  the  opportunity, 
if  ever.  He  would  at  least  be  on  the  watch  for  any 
suitable  occasion  that  might  present  itself. 

So  at  five  o'clock  punctually  he  was  in  the 
Countess's  drawing-room.  She  was  there  to  receive 
him ;  but  her  general  aspect  had  none  of  the  win 
ning  grace  which  had  been  so  marked  at  his  last 
visit.  She  wore  her  out-of-door  habiliments,  even 
her  heavy  black  hat,  even  her  gloves,  having  evi 
dently  just  returned  from  her  daily  drive.  At  the 
first  glance,  he  thought  she  looked  much  graver, 
older,  more  worn  even,  than  he  had  ever  seen  her 
look  before.  Then  he  remembered  that  it  was  in 
her  power  to  look  exactly  as  she  wished. 

She  shook  hands  with  him,  and  pointed  to  a 
chair.  "  Thank  you  for  coming  so  promptly,"  she 
said.  Her  manner  was  courteous  and  cold,  a  shade 
haughty  even,  as  if  she  had  sent  for  a  tradesman, 
or  a  lawyer  say,  to  talk  business. 

Gordon  seated  himself  and  waited  for  her  to 
begin.  He  had  nothing  to  say.  She  did  not  keep 
him  waiting  long.  After  a  moment's  reflection, 
during  which  she  might  have  been  observing  him, 
but  did  not  appear  to  be  doing  so,  she  spoke  in  the 
same  reserved,  cold  fashion  as  before.  "  I  invited 
you  to  come  here,  Mr.  Gordon,  for  a  definite  pur 
pose.  I  have  a  statement  and  a  proposition  to  make 
to  you." 

Gordon  bowed  gravely,  as  a  respectful  trades 
man  would,  and  prepared  himself  to  listen.  On  the 


262  THE  PRIVATE   TUTOR 

whole,  her  mood  suited  him  as  well  as  any  other 
could  have  done. 

She  hesitated  just  a  second,  as  if  to  give  him  the 
opportunity  of  speaking,  then  went  on,  as  before : 
"  I  told  you  the  other  day  that  I  intended  to  marry 
Edgar  Payne.  I  intend  so  still.  The  affair  is  pro 
gressing  steadily  towards  the  end  I  have  in  view, 
and  you  have  doubtless  discovered  that  nothing  you 
can  do  is  likely  to  delay  the  progress."  Clearly 
she  looked  for  some  answer  at  this  point ;  but  Gor 
don  still  kept  silence,  guided  now  by  policy  as  well 
as  inclination.  He  simply  looked  at  her  with  the 
same  quiet  air  of  courteous  interest. 

If  she  was  annoyed,  she  did  not  show  it.  "  Of 
course  you  have,"  she  continued,  "  but  although  I 
am  perfectly  satisfied  as  to  the  result  of  my  — 
love  affair,  I  want  it  to  go  faster.  The  young  man 
is  a  boor,  an  oaf,  a  brute,  as  you  know,  but  he  is 
a  little  shrewd.  He  holds  off,  and  gives  me  more 
trouble  than  I  imagined  he  would.  You  see,  I  am 
frank  with  you.  I  can  afford  to  be,  your  enmity 
is  so  little  dangerous.  Now,  time  is  rather  impor 
tant  to  me.  I  cannot  stay  much  longer  in  Rome,  as 
I  am,  for  reasons  political  and  financial  both.  Do 
I  make  myself  clear  ?  " 

"Perfectly.  Your  statement  is  lucidity  itself 
and  fills  me  with  curiosity  as  to  your  proposition." 

"  Very  good."  She  paused  a  moment,  watching 
him  closely,  while  she  seemed  to  collect  her 
thoughts.  She  had  got  him  placed,  as  does  every 


A  BUSINESS  PROPOSITION  263 

skillful  manoeuvrer  in  talk,  so  that  his  face  was 
lighted  and  hers  in  shadow,  though  the  whole 
lighting  of  the  room  was  dim  enough.  "  You  re 
member,  I  charged  you  the  other  day  with  wishing 
to  marry  Miss  Stanton?"  Gordon's  brows  drew 
together  a  very  little.  "  Don't  be  impatient  till 
you  have  heard  me  out.  That  was  a  random  shot. 
Nevertheless,  I  thought  I  would  go  and  see  the 
young  lady  and  find  out  what  it  all  means.  I  sup 
pose  she  told  you  ?  " 

"  She  did,"  replied  Gordon,  without  further  ex 
planation.  He  was  beginning  to  think  that  all  his 
conversations  with  the  Countess  were  to  be  mono 
logues,  and  on  the  whole,  he  preferred  them  that 
way. 

"  Good.  She  is  a  clever  young  woman.  She  is 
pretty,  and  may  be  beautiful.  Above  all,  she  is 
young.  Give  us  every  other  advantage,  and  youth 
will  throw  us  every  time.  Very  well.  I  suppose 
she  will  make  you  happier  than  I  should ;  but  that 
is  neither  here  nor  there.  My  proposition  is  simply 
this.  Help  me  and  I  will  help  you.  Facilitate  my 
match  and  I  will  facilitate  yours." 

Gordon  sat  up  straighter  and  opened  his  eyes 
wide  ;  but  still  he  said  nothing. 

"  Do  you  understand  ?  "  This  in  a  tone  almost 
harsh,  in  its  clear  coldness. 

"  No,"  said  Gordon  slowly,  hoarsely.  "  I  did  n't 
quite  understand." 

"  You  are  dull.    I  say,  help  me,  and  I  will  help 


264  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

you.  Your  young  man  there  is  just  hanging  on 
the  edge.  I  can  get  him  over,  but  it  may  be  a 
little  troublesome.  Just  one  tactful  word  from  you 
would  save  me  all  the  trouble.  Then  I  take  hold 
for  you.  Edgar  appeases  his  father.  His  father 
appeases  Mr.  Stanton.  There  you  are.  The 
daughter  needs  no  inducement.  I  can  see  that. 
No  woman  does  with  you.  Do  you  understand  at 
last?" 

She  spoke  with  quick,  sharp  phrases  and  light, 
eager  gestures,  all  the  chilly  acuteness  of  the  mod 
ern  woman  of  affairs.  And  Gordon  felt  at  once 
the  truth  of  what  Edgar  had  foreseen  as  to  her 
success  in  the  stock  market.  The  thought  occupied 
him  for  only  a  second,  however,  for  his  mind  was 
chiefly  engaged  with  the  infinite  disreputableness 
of  the  proposition  she  was  making.  Had  he  really 
laid  himself  open  to  this?  Was  it  possible  that 
even  such  little  contact  as  he  had  had  with  the 
people  of  this  woman's  world  had  put  him  on 
their  level,  till  she  could  confidently  ask  him  to  do 
something  so  despicable  ?  The  very  air  of  the  room 
seemed  to  stifle  him. 

With  this  tumult  in  his  thoughts  he  was  slow 
in  answering,  even  when  she  repeated  her  ques 
tion.  While  he  delayed,  she  tapped  her  little  foot 
impatiently  on  the  floor. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  think  of  me,*'  he 
said  at  length.  "This  isn't  a  sort  of  thing  I  am 
used  to." 


A  BUSINESS   PROPOSITION  265 

"  I  think  you  are  a  fool,"  she  said,  with  all  the 
sharp  snap  of  her  nervous  irritation.  "  And  I  am 
a  greater  fool  for  trying  to  talk  business  to  you. 
That  Edgar,  who  isn't  a  fool,  whatever  else  he 
may  be,  has  taken  your  measure  thoroughly.  But 
that  you  should  have  scruples  and  a  conscience ! 
They  don't  suit  you.  You  ought  to  live  for  plea 
sure,  and  ease,  and  peace ;  and  you  ought  to  know 
that  you  can't  have  those  things  and  be  virtuous. 
Virtue  is  a  luxury  which  is  hardly  purchased  with 
all  the  charm  of  life ;  and  when  you  've  sacrificed 
everything  for  it,  it  is  a  drug  on  your  hands. 
Still,  there  is  a  virtue  even  one  like  me  can  re 
spect,  hard,  clear,  cold,  and  consistent,  which  does 
not  trifle  with  itself  or  with  others.  But  your  vir 
tue  !  Ah,  dear  me  !  What  a  pale  and  simple  thing 
it  is.  Shrinking  into  corners  with  its  fingers 
over  its  eyes  —  sometimes  —  and  then  again  start 
ing  out  when  nobody  expects  or  wants  it,  least  of 
all  its  owner.  Pah  !  " 

Gordon  had  continued  his  reflections  during 
this  tirade.  On  the  whole,  he  was  glad  such  a  crisis 
had  arrived.  His  duty  was  clearer  to  him  now. 
He  would  have  the  whole  thing  out  with  Edgar. 
Then  he  would  cable  to  Mr.  Payne  to  come  at  once. 
Perhaps  even  yet  he  might  arrive  in  time.  But 
now,  before  doing  all  this,  he  would  at  least  take 
his  turn  at  making  a  proposition.  Certainly,  after 
what  had  just  passed,  it  would  not  be  her  place  to 
accuse  him  of  any  lack  of  delicacy. 


266  THE  PRIVATE   TUTOR 

"  Antonia,"  he  began,  "  supposing  we  don't  talk 
about  my  virtue.  The  subject  is  of  secondary  im 
portance."  She  made  a  scornful  gesture  of  assent. 
"  But  since  you  have  begun  putting  things  on  a 
business  basis,  I  will  take  my  turn.  What  should 
you  say  ?  I  mean  it  occurred  to  me  " —  It  was 
very  disagreeable,  and  she  did  not  help  him  a  bit ; 
just  sat  and  stared  icily.  But  he  floundered  on. 
"  It  occurred  to  me  that  perhaps  Mr.  Payne  would 
make  it  worth  your  while,  you  know  "  — 

Then  she  burst  out.  "  You  've  come  to  it,  at  last, 
have  you?  I  expected  this  long  ago — and  perhaps 
long  ago  I  might  have  listened  to  you.  It  is  of 
no  use  now.  I  want  the  boy  himself.  I  want  his 
father.  I  want  the  millions  —  all  of  them,  do  you 
see?  I  mean  at  least  to  have  a  try  at  them.  I 
want  to  start  over  again,  a  new  woman  in  a  new 
world.  And  I  want  to  win.  I  want  to  beat  you. 
It  is  a  poor  triumph ;  but  it  will  be  one  to  me.  At 
last  I  think  we  understand  each  other.  Now  go." 

There  seemed  to  be  nothing  more  to  be  said.  So 
Gordon  went. 

When  he  had  left  the  room,  the  scorn  and  wrath 
instantly  faded  from  Antonia's  face.  For  a  long 
time  she  sat  quiet,  drawing  her  gloves  back  and 
forth  through  her  hands,  absently. 


CHAPTER  XXII 
WILL  YOU  WALK   INTO  MY  PARLOR 

NEARLY  three  weeks  have  passed  since  we  saw 
Edgar  and  the  Countess  driving  together  in  the 
Campagna.  During  that  time  Edgar's  progress 
had  been  slow,  but,  as  Antonia  said,  sure.  The 
skill  with  which  he  was  manipulated  was  bound 
to  tell  in  the  end.  Gradually,  very  gradually,  he 
found  himself  admitted  into  an  intimacy  which 
was  all  the  more  charming  and  the  more  binding, 
because  he  could  hardly  mark  the  steps  by  which 
it  grew.  Appointments  at  more  familiar  hours  — 
early  in  the  afternoon,  late  in  the  twilight ;  soli 
tary  walks  in  the  morning  to  lonely  churches  and 
quiet  palaces ;  those  delicious  bits  of  whispered  in 
tercourse  in  public  places,  which  are  the  subtlest 
sweets  of  growing  love:  all  these  slight  favors 
vouchsafed  made  Edgar  feel  more  at  home  with 
the  lady  of  his  affections,  but  also  fixed  his  mind 
more  and  more  on  a  permanent  relationship. 
Perfectly  free  and  easy  as  she  was  in  all  her  talk 
and  manner  with  him,  she  made  him  appreciate 
that  any  undue  liberty  would  be  not  only  impru 
dent,  but  simply  impossible. 

The  effect  of  Gordon's  talk  upon  his  pupil  had 


268  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

been  null.  Edgar  really  believed  that  Gordon  was 
a  natural  liar ;  but  so  far  as  the  Countess  was  con 
cerned,  he  did  not  specially  care  whether  Gordon 
had  lied  or  not.  She  might  have  had  lovers  in  the 
past,  but  he  was  interested  in  the  future.  If  she 
married  him,  it  might  be  partly  for  money.  Sup 
posing  it  was  so.  He  was  not  the  one  to  respect 
her  less  for  that.  Again,  she  might  not  have  much 
money  herself.  On  this  point  he  was  certainly  very 
anxious  and  would  have  given  a  good  deal  for  in 
formation  ;  but  his  acquaintances  in  Rome  were 
not  of  a  sort  that  could  give  him  any.  Such  mys 
terious  rumors  as  had  come  to  him  were  vague  and 
evidently  of  a  most  unreliable  nature.  Yet,  after 
all,  it  was  she  he  was  after,  not  money.  He  could 
make  money  for  both.  The  more  he  saw  of  her, 
the  more  the  idea  of  fatality  about  her  grew  upon 
him.  He  felt  more  and  more  confident  that,  with 
her  beside  him,  he  could  go  home  and  plunge  and 
make  big  money  from  the  start.  So  it  was  coming 
about  that  marriage  was  almost  always  in  his 
thoughts.  Only,  he  was  a  prudent  young  man  and 
preferred  to  walk  carefully.  It  would  take  just  a 
few  more  of  those  delicious  little  interviews  to  de 
cide  him. 

On  the  same  day  on  which  the  Countess  had 
requested  a  call  from  Gordon,  she  also  sent  a  little 
note  to  Edgar.  "Dear  Mr.  Payne,  —  Come  and 
see  me  this  evening.  I  am  dining  out  —  so  tire 
some  ;  yet  I  must.  But  I  shall  be  at  home  by  ten 


WILL   YOU  WALK   INTO   MY  PARLOR    269 

certainly.  Come  in  for  a  few  minutes  and  cheer 
me  up.  Sincerely  yours,  A.  M."  She  had  not  re 
ceived  him  before  in  the  evening,  except  once  or 
twice,  when  she  had  other  guests,  who  had  annoyed 
and  irritated  him  beyond  measure.  This  was  a 
golden  opportunity  indeed.  All  the  afternoon  his 
attention  was  distracted  from  the  stock-lists  by 
thoughts  of  what  was  coming,  and  vague  gleams  of 
amorous  witchery  flitted  across  the  arid  columns  of 
quotations. 

At  ten  precisely  he  rang  the  Countess's  bell  and 
was  ushered  into  her  sombre,  quiet  drawing-room  ; 
no  Countess.  Well,  he  had  no  proprietorship  in 
her  yet  and  could  not  find  fault  if  she  kept  him 
waiting  for  a  little  ;  but  by  George !  let  her  only 
be  married  to  him  — .  He  amused  himself  with  a 
careful  inspection  of  the  room.  Everything  looked 
like  money,  certainly  —  pictures,  furniture,  books, 
flowers.  But  he  thought  he  knew  enough  to  know 
that  such  appearances  were  deceptive.  Yet,  after 
all,  if  she  had  n't  much  money,  perhaps  she  would 
be  more  obedient,  more  dutifully  acquiescent  to  a 
husband's  plans  and  desires.  For,  though  he  was 
madly  in  love,  he  shrewdly  suspected  that  her  will 
and  his  might  have  some  fierce  battles  in  days  to 
come.  Then  he  thought  of  Priscilla  and  realized 
that  it  was  just  those  battles  that  he  looked  for 
ward  to,  or,  at  any  rate,  the  splendid  faculty  of 
battling. 

It  was  half-past  ten  now.    He  threw  himself  im* 


270  THE  PRIVATE   TUTOR 

patiently  on  a  sofa  and  began  to  gnaw  his  nails 
with  irritation.  What  did  she  mean  by  keeping 
him  waiting  like  this  ?  He  would  make  her  under 
stand  that  he  was  not  a  child  to  be  taken  up  and  put 
away  at  the  convenience  of  her  fancy.  He  would 
tell  her  straight  out  what  he  thought.  Where 
was  she  now?  Why  should  she  stay  so  late,  if  she 
was  not  enjoying  herself?  What  business  had 
she  to  enjoy  herself  without  him  ?  But  then,  it  was 
true  that  he  had  as  yet  no  right  to  abuse  her  in 
the  matter.  Ah,  he  must  get  that  right  as  soon  as 
he  possibly  could.  His  mind  was  made  up.  What 
was  the  use  of  wasting  time  and  being  bothered? 
All  which  reflections,  as  the  sapient  reader  will 
naturally  gather,  were  exactly  in  the  line  of  what 
the  Countess  intended  when  she  arranged  this  little 
matter. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock,  and  Edgar  had  just  made 
up  his  mind  that  he  would  wait  no  longer,  con 
scious,  nevertheless,  that  he  should  wait  till  morn 
ing,  if  necessary,  when  a  carriage  stopped  below ; 
and  in  a  minute  there  was  a  ring  at  the  door  of 
the  apartment.  Then  voices  were  heard  in  the  hall 
—  Antonia's  and  that  of  a  man,  speaking  French 
low  and  rapidly.  The  colloquy  lasted  for  a  minute 
or  so,  which  seemed  an  hour  to  Edgar's  jealous  ex 
asperation,  and  he  ended  by  getting  up  and  going 
towards  the  door,  determined  to  find  out  who  was 
this  midnight  intruder  on  his  peace.  But  before  he 
had  taken  more  than  a  step  or  two,  the  talking 


WILL  YOU  WALK  INTO   MY   PARLOR    271 

ceased,  and  the  outside  door  opened  and  closed 
again.  The  portiere  which  covered  the  entrance  to 
the  drawing-rooin  was  put  aside  and  Antonia 
entered. 

She  paused  a  second  on  the  threshold  ;  and  the 
sight  of  her,  as  she  stood  there,  changed  Edgar's 
feelings  instantly.  She  was  dressed  in  black  as 
usual,  an  evening  gown  of  the  most  complete 
description ;  but  this  was  only  barely  observable 
under  the  heavy  cloak  which  she  was  just  loosen 
ing  from  her  shoulders.  The  cloak  was  pure  white, 
silk,  trimmed  with  swan's-down,  and  reached  in 
long,  unbroken  folds  to  her  feet.  She  wore  a  large 
white  hat  also,  with  white  plumes,  one  small,  deep 
red  plume  in  the  middle  of  them,  like  a  splotch 
of  blood.  As  she  stood  there,  black  and  white, 
her  black-gloved  hands  silhouetted  against  the 
white  silk,  a  dark,  heavy,  crimson  curtain  behind 
her,  she  was  a  wonderful  picture,  as  no  one  knew 
better  than  herself. 

It  was  only  for  a  second.  Then  she  came  quickly 
towards  Edgar,  with  both  hands  extended  in  warm, 
eager  comradeship.  "  Ah,  my  friend,  how  good  you 
are  to  come  to  me.  I  have  kept  you  waiting  shame 
fully,  shamefully.  Will  you  forgive  me  ?  " 

He  forgave  her  with  his  whole  heart.  She  sat 
herself  down  in  the  corner  of  a  sofa  and  let  him 
sit  beside  her.  The  heavy  cloak  was  thrown  half 
back  from  her  shoulders,  with  a  petulant  gesture, 
and  the  hat  laid  aside.  The  disorder  of  her  hair 


272  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

and  the  glow  in  her  cheeks,  partly  owing  to  the 
chilly  winter  wind,  and  partly  to  her  evening's  ex 
citement,  made  her  lovely  to  look  upon.  Eound 
her  neck,  in  delicate  contrast  with  the  subtle  tones 
of  her  clear  skin,  was  a  double  necklace  of  pearls, 
large,  soft,  radiant.  As  she  drew  off  her  gloves, 
the  ever-present  opal  threw  its  pale  sparkle  from 
her  finger. 

For  a  moment  she  let  Edgar  enjoy  the  intimate 
charm  which  comes  from  being  part  of  a  woman's 
home,  from  feeling  that  for  you  she  has  laid  aside 
her  varied  wrappings  of  artifice  and  convention, 
and  relaxed  perfectly  into  the  simple  habit  of  her 
inward  life.  Then  she  spoke  softly  and  absently : 
"  I  am  so  tired,  so  tired,  and  so  bored.  You  thought 
I  stayed  because  I  was  enjoying  myself,  and  were 
a  little  angry  with  me  ?  Was  it  not  so  ? "  Her 
hands  were  playing  idly  with  the  long  black  gloves, 
but  now  she  suffered  him  to  seize  one  of  them  and 
keep  it,  though  she  took  no  notice  of  his  pressure. 
"  Ah,  my  friend,  how  tedious  it  is,  the  world,  and 
what  fools  they  are  to  run  after  it !  Did  you  hear 
that  man  speak  to  me  when  I  came  in  ?  "  Edgar 
nodded,  still  holding  the  white  hand  with  the  opal. 
"I  thought  so.  That  man  is  a  French  marquis 
who  wants  me  to  marry  him.  Fancy !  And  he  is 
fifty  years  old,  and  a  beast,  and  hideous.  And  he 
bores  me  so."  A  little  real  shudder  ran  through 
her  frame  —  if  it  was  real.  At  any  rate,  it  ruffled 
the  fairness  of  her  skin,  as  a  little  breeze  ruffles 


WILL  YOU  WALK  INTO   MY   PARLOR    273 

the  surface  of  a  summer  lake.  "  Shall  I  marry 
him?" 

"  What  ?  A  cursed,  frog-eating  Frenchman  ?  I 
knew  he  was  spoony  when  I  heard  him.  Why 
did  n't  I  throw  him  downstairs  ?  " 

"  Ah,  if  you  are  going  to  throw  downstairs  all 
the  disagreeable  people  who  want  to  marry  me"  — 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment.  She  had  re 
claimed  her  hand  and  was  again  drawing  her  gloves 
through  it  slowly  and  gently.  Edgar  felt  that  now 
was  the  time.  He  must  speak,  he  would  speak. 
No  frog-eating,  beggarly  French  marquis  should 
come  between  him  and  his  prize  now.  He  was  sit- 
ting  with  his  face  turned  towards  her,  his  arm 
resting  on  the  back  of  the  sofa,  while  she  was  look 
ing  straight  away  from  him  at  the  further  side 
of  the  room,  her  eyes  fixed  perhaps  on  the  deep 
shadows  in  the  red  curtains  or  perhaps  on  things 
and  people  far  away.  "  Antonia,"  he  began  hesi 
tatingly. 

She  read  his  tone  at  once ;  but  she  was  not  quite 
prepared ;  and  she  interrupted  him  softly.  "  Do 
you  know,"  she  said,  "  I  had  a  call  from  Mr.  Gor 
don  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  Gordy  ?  What  did  he  want  ?  Some  mean 
trick,  I  '11  be  bound." 

She  did  not  answer  immediately,  so  Edgar's 
mind  reverted  to  the  former  and  more  important 
subject :  "  Never  mind  Gordy,  what  do  we  care 
about  him.  But  I  say  "  — 


274  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

"  He  came  with  an  odd  proposal,"  she  inter 
rupted  again,  speaking  in  a  thoughtful  tone,  with 
her  eyes  still  fixed  on  distance,  her  hands  still 
trifling  with  her  gloves.  "  What  do  you  suppose  ? 
He  asked  me  whether  I  would  get  you  to  help  him 
—  marry  Miss  Stanton." 

"  The  confounded  impudence !  I  say,  that  fellow 
does  beat  all  for  cool,  perfect  cheek.  Of  course, 
I  don't  want  the  girl,  you  know.  Why  should  I  ? 
Hey?  I  can  get  something  better  than  that  —  I 
hope.  But  to  expect  me  to  help  him !  Oh,  won't 
I  give  him  a  piece  of  my  mind  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  don't  do  that.  After  all,  he  came  to 
me  in  confidence." 

"  But  what  did  you  say  to  him  ?  " 

Antonia  assumed  a  lovely  air  of  injured  dignity. 
"  I  told  him  I  really  could  n't  meddle  in  such  in 
trigues  at  all,  that  I  had  no  sort  of  claim  on  you 
which  would  entitle  me  to  make  such  a  request  of 
you"  —  Here  Edgar  tried  to  interrupt,  but  she 
would  not  let  him  —  "  that  it  seemed  to  me  under 
the  circumstances,  it  was,  to  say  the  least,  not  very 
dignified  for  him  to  try  to  marry  a  young  lady 
whom  her  parents  had  destined  for  a  young  man 
that  was  under  his  charge." 

"  By  Jove  !  I  dare  say  you  fixed  him  all  right." 
But  Edgar's  mind  was  on  another  subject  now. 
How  did  it  happen  that  she  and  Gordon  were  so 
intimate  ?  Of  course,  he  knew  of  their  former  ac 
quaintance,  and  that  Gordon  occasionally  visited 


WILL  YOU   WALK  INTO  MY   PARLOR    275 

her  ;  but  such  an  interview  as  this  implied  a  closer 
relation  than  he  was  aware  of.  "  I  say,"  he  began 
abruptly,  staring1  at  her,  with  just  a  trace  of  a  frown 
on  his  cheerful  brow,  "how  did  you  and  Gordy 
get  so  thick  all  of  a  sudden  ?  " 

Antonia  turned  and  looked  him  straight  in  the 
eye,  with  the  most  natural  and  frank  astonishment. 
"  Why,"  she  said,  "  I  thought  you  knew  that  Mr. 
Gordon  and  I  were  old  friends." 

"  Friends  !  What  do  you  call  friends  ?  "  was  the 
harsh  response. 

"  Has  n't  he  ever  spoken  to  you  about  me  ?  It 
is  a  reticence  which  he  has  not  always  practiced. 
Talking  is  his  weakness  —  and  saying  things  that 
he  should  n't  say." 

"  I  know  that ;  but  what  do  you  mean,  anyhow  ? 
What  is  it  aU  about  ?  " 

Antonia  hesitated  and  re-settled  herself  in  her 
corner.  "  It  is  only  for  one's  best  friends  that  one 
is  willing  to  stir  up  these  harsh  and  bitter  mem 
ories  ;  so  you  see  what  I  think  of  you."  In  reply 
Edgar  made  another  effort  —  again  a  successful 
one  —  to  possess  himself  of  her  hand.  Then  she 
went  on  softly,  quietly,  almost  with  tears  in  her 
voice  :  "  When  Mr.  Gordon  came  here  three  years 
ago,  he  was  three  years  younger  than  he  is  now. 
So  was  I.  He  was  a  green,  inexperienced  youth,  al 
ways  doing  and  saying  foolish  things,  handsome,  no 
doubt,  but  so  ignorant  of  the  ways  of  the  world  that 
he  could  not  secure  any  entrance  into  good  society. 


276  THE  PRIVATE   TUTOR 

I  had  the  charity  of  youth  then.  I  befriended  him, 
introduced  him,  helped  him  on  in  the  world,  did 
everything  for  him,  though  perhaps  I  ought  not  to 
say  so.  Apparently,  he  misunderstood  my  kindness, 
as  men  always  do,  and  thought  I  was  in  love  with 
him.  If  you  could  have  known  him  then,  you  would 
laugh  at  the  idea,  a  great,  clumsy,  hopeless,  self- 
conscious  boy." 

"  I  can  see  him  from  here,"  said  the  delighted 
Edgar. 

"  Exactly.  So  he  asked  me  to  marry  him.  I 
was  completely  taken  aback,  for,  so  far  as  I  could 
make  out,  he  had  no  money,  no  occupation,  no  posi 
tion.  Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"  Of  course  it  is  —  just  a  beggarly  loafer  —  no 
thing  else." 

"  Besides,  I  did  not  love  him.  Well,  I  told  him 
all  this,  kindly,  as  you  can  imagine.  I  said  I  hoped 
he  would  not  change  towards  me.  If  I  could  not 
have  him  for  a  husband,  I  wanted  him  for  a  friend. 
But  it  would  not  do.  He  is  of  a  proud  and  jealous 
disposition,  it  seems." 

"  I  should  say  so." 

"  My  kindness  returned  to  me,  as  it  usually  does. 
He  would  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  me,  threw 
me  over  completely.  That  was  not  all.  Would  you 
believe  it?  He  began  to  tell  all  sorts  of  stories 
about  me,  scandalous,  abominable.  He  said  that  I 
—  that  I  —  I  cannot  repeat  it." 

Here  the  unfortunate  lady,  in  whose  voice  the 


WILL  YOU   WALK  INTO   MY   PARLOR    277 

tears  had  been  growing  more  and  more  prominent, 
gave  way  to  a  passion  of  them,  burying  her  face  in 
her  hands. 

"  Damn  him  !  "  Edgar  shouted,  completely  over 
come  by  that  mixture  of  pity  and  helpless  irritation 
which  possesses  every  man  in  the  presence  of  fem 
inine  weeping,  the  proportion  of  the  mixture  vary 
ing  with  the  man's  character  and  his  relation  to  the 
lady  concerned.  "  Damn  him  I  " 

Recovering  herself,  with  an  effort,  at  this  vehe 
ment  ejaculation,  and  smiling  gently  at  her  adorer, 
Antonia  resumed :  "  You  may  wonder  that,  after 
all  this,  I  was  willing  to  receive  him  again.  But 
he  is  a  hard  person  to  resist,  where  he  is  determined 
to  make  his  way.  Then,  I  thought  it  better  to 
conciliate  than  to  irritate  him  ;  for  I  was  absolutely 
at  the  mercy  of  his  tongue.  When  a  woman  is 
alone,  it  is  hard,  so  hard  "  — 

The  tears  began  to  flow  again  and  Edgar  could 
endure  it  no  longer.  Slipping  off  the  sofa  on  to  one 
knee,  he  put  his  arm  about  her,  and  forced  her  to 
look  down  at  him  through  her  tears.  "  Antonia," 
he  said,  "  Antonia  "  — 

"  Don't  pity  me,"  she  murmured,  "  I  can't  bear 
that." 

"  No,  no  !  You  don't  need  any  pity.  It  was  n't 
of  that  I  was  thinking.  Antonia,  I  want  you  to  be 
my  wife." 

Her  face  lighted  up  with  a  wonderful  sad  smile. 
"You  are  like  the  others,"  she  said. 


278  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

"  No,  I  'm  not  like  the  others !  You  try  me  and 
see.  I  '11  make  something  of  you  and  you  '11  make 
something  of  me.  I  tell  you,  together  we  '11  just 
make  'em  stare.  We  '11  go  into  the  stock  market 
and  I  '11  cut  a  figure,  and  we  '11  go  into  society 
and  you  '11  cut  a  figure.  By  Jove !  It  11  be  great. 
Come  now,  there  's  a  good  girl !  " 

She  listened  thoughtfully  to  love's  rapturous 
vaticinations,  stroking  his  harsh,  colorless  locks 
with  one  pale,  fine  hand.  But  I  doubt  if  she  heard 
him.  She  was  dreaming  of  the  others,  perhaps  of 
one  other.  Then  the  comedy  of  the  situation  grew 
upon  her.  She  thought  she  had  never  seen  a  more 
grotesque  figure  than  the  one  kneeling  before  her, 
a  Chinese  idol,  say,  or  the  hideous  illustration  of  a 
funny  paper. 

When  she  heard  this  last  ardent  request,  she 
smiled  again,  more  sadly  still.  "  Not  now,  child, 
not  now !  "  she  said.  "  What  would  papa  say, 
and  Gordon,  and  Miss  Priscilla  ?  " 

"Don't  make  fun  of  me,"  he  cried,  in  anger. 
"  What  do  you  suppose  that 's  got  to  do  with  it  ? 
I  'm  not  a  child,  don't  treat  me  like  one." 

"  How  petulant  it  is ! "  The  smile  got  a  grain 
of  mischief  in  it.  The  caressing  hand  put  a  shade 
more  tenderness  in  its  caress.  "  I  only  want  to 
say  that  you  must  not  speak  to  me  so  now,  when  I 
have  been  working  on  your  feelings,  like  a  naughty, 
selfish  thing  as  I  am.  God  knows  I  love  you 
enough.  You  are  honest.  And  that  is  just  the  one 


WILL  YOU   WALK  INTO   MY  PARLOR    279 

thing  I  care  for  in  the  world,  honesty  and  straight 
forwardness.  I  love  you  enough  to  be  unwilling  to 
injure  you.  Go  away  now.  It  is  midnight.  Go ; 
and  when  you  come  again,  it  shall  be  as  if  these 
words  had  never  been  spoken.  We  will  be  friends 
together,  as  we  have  been.  Go,  I  insist.  No  !  No ! 
No  !  "  for  Edgar,  going  in  obedience  to  her  orders, 
stopped  yet  a  moment  to  lean  over  and  kiss  her 
again  and  again,  muttering  passionate  exclamations 
of  hope,  rapture,  and  entreaty.  When  he  reached 
the  door,  turning  to  look  back,  he  cried,  "  You 
shall  be  mine,  mine,  mine ! "  Then  she  herself 
threw  him  one  little  kiss,  with  playful  witchery. 

When  he  had  gone,  she  sank  back  in  the  corner, 
dull,  listless,  exhausted ;  and  an  expression  of  intol 
erable,  sickening  disgust  settled  on  her  face. 


CHAPTEK  XXIII 
THE  CRISIS 

WHEN  Gordon  left  the  Countess's  drawing-room, 
he  felt  that  the  crisis  had  arrived.  If  there  was 
anything  farther  to  be  done,  he  must  delay  not  a 
minute  longer  in  doing  it.  He  would  see  Edgar  at 
once,  make  one  last  appeal  to  him,  referring,  if 
necessary,  to  his  own  personal  experiences.  Failing 
in  this,  as  of  course  he  should  fail,  he  would  cable 
to  Mr.  Payne  to  come  out,  if  possible,  and  take 
his  own  measures,  if  he  should  arrive  in  season  to 
take  any  measures  at  all.  Meantime,  he,  Gordon, 
would  simply  throw  up  all  responsibility  for  the 
whole  affair. 

With  this  decision  clearly  formed  in  his  mind, 
he  went  directly  home,  hoping  to  find  Edgar  and 
go  to  work  at  once.  In  this  he  was  disappointed. 
Edgar  had  gone  out,  leaving  word  that  he  should 
not  be  in  till  late  in  the  evening.  There  was  no 
thing  for  it  but  to  wait.  Gordon,  however,  had 
the  gift,  which  is  denied  to  so  many,  of  waiting 
with  perfect  equanimity,  even  in  very  trying  cir 
cumstances.  He  did  not  pass  his  time  in  dwelling 
on  disagreeable  details  of  the  approaching  inter 
view,  and  forming  neat  and  appropriate  turns  of 


THE  CRISIS  281 

phrase  to  accomplish  his  object.  Perhaps  he  would 
have  accomplished  his  object  better  if  he  had  done 
so ;  but  he  would  have  been  much  more  uncom 
fortable  in  the  interval. 

As  it  was,  he  went  and  dined  placidly  and  en 
joyed  his  dinner.  Then  he  thought  he  would  go 
around  to  Morris's  studio  and  have  a  chat.  He 
had  not  recently  seen  much  of  Morris,  who  had 
been  devoting  himself  to  a  wild  and  wealthy  young 
lady  from  Kansas  City.  On  the  few  occasions 
when  they  had  met,  Morris  had  inquired  with 
great  interest  about  the  progress  of  Gordon's  tutor 
ship  ;  but  there  had  been  no  opportunity  for  afford 
ing  him  much  information.  Now,  however,  Gordon 
felt  as  if  it  might  be  pleasant  to  talk  the  matter 
over  thoroughly  with  some  one,  and  he  knew  of  no 
one  else  to  whom  he  could  so  easily  go. 

Morris's  studio  did  not  have  exactly  the  appear 
ance  of  a  genuine  shrine  of  art.  As  indeed,  why 
should  it  ?  The  various  paraphernalia  were  there, 
easels,  palettes,  and  brushes,  canvases  piled  back 
outward  against  the  wall  in  gray  dismalness,  casts 
of  feet,  hands,  etc.,  old  armor,  oriental  costumes, 
and  all  the  rest  of  it.  But  somehow,  those  things 
seemed  to  be  there  for  amusement  and  not  for  work. 

The  proprietor  of  this  dubious  establishment 
received  Gordon  with  enthusiasm,  and  immediately 
set  him  at  the  piano  to  sing  songs  of  indescribable 
and  delectable  humorousness,  while  the  assembled 
young  gentlemen  —  half  a  dozen  or  more  —  shouted 


282  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

with  glee  and  filled  and  emptied  their  pipes  and 
glasses  of  brandy  and  soda.  When  the  singer  was 
at  the  end  of  his  repertory,  the  party  fell  to  con 
versation  on  Italian  politics,  American  art,  virtue, 
and  other  kindred  and  original  topics.  The  fury 
of  argument  increased  as  the  brandy  and  soda 
diminished  ;  but  always  when  the  former  reached 
a  state  which  threatened  violence,  Gordon,  without 
the  least  affectation,  threw  in  a  scrap  of  a  jest, 
or  a  word  of  humorous  non-comprehension,  which 
turned  the  storm  into  general  laughter.  Vehement 
disputation  always  bored  him.  It  seemed  to  waste 
the  serenity  of  life. 

Gradually  the  brandy  and  soda  went  and  the 
company  went  also ;  until  Morris  and  Gordon 
found  themselves  alone,  in  the  smoky  atmosphere, 
before  the  dying  fire. 

"  I  suppose  you  'd  like  me  to  go  too,"  Gordon 
suggested. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  never  wanted  to  be  alone  in 
my  life."  Morris  put  more  coals  on  the  fire  and 
produced  more  brandy  and  soda,  from  an  appar 
ently  inexhaustible  receptacle.  "  Besides,"  he  went 
on,  "  now  is  the  very  time  for  you  to  tell  me  all 
about  it." 

"All  about  what?" 

"  Your  tutorship." 

Gordon  did  not  reply  for  a  moment,  but  refilled 
his  pipe  and  his  glass,  leisurely.  Then  he  said, 
"  I  'm  in  a  devil  of  a  mess." 


THE  CRISIS  283 

"You  always  are.  But  you  don't  seem  to 
mind  it." 

"  I  do  mind  it  this  time." 

"  Yet,  after  all,  I  don't  see  that  you  're  much  to 
blame  ?  "  Morris  continued  inquiringly. 

"  Why,  what  do  you  know  about  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  've  watched  you  all  along.  I  think  I 
understand  the  situation.  The  two  old  fathers  fix 
up  a  match  and  expect  you  to  bring  it  about.  The 
lady  won't,  and  the  gentleman  won't,  and  the  two 
old  ones  hammer  you.  I  take  it  that 's  something 
the  size  of  it." 

"  It  is  n't  the  size  of  it  at  all  —  not  a  tenth  part 
the  size  of  it.  You  can't  see  half  so  far  as  you 
think  you  can." 

"  I  can't,  hey  ? "  Morris  rejoined,  rather  in  a 
huff.  "  Then  what  is  the  situation,  if  you  please  ?  " 

"  Well,  to  put  it  briefly :  the  gentleman  wants 
to  marry  the  Countess  Markovski,  and  the  lady 
wants  to  marry  me." 

"  The  devil !  "  Morris  almost  dropped  his  pipe 
in  astonishment. 

"  Well,  I  hope  I  'm  not  so  bad  as  that,  but  I 
sometimes  think  I  must  be." 

"  As  to  the  Countess,"  Morris  observed,  grad 
ually  collecting  his  senses,  "  you  must  remember 
that  I  prophesied  it  long  ago  ;  though  I  must  con 
fess  I  did  n't  believe  it  when  I  said  it." 

"  You  prophesied  it !  Yes.  Like  all  prophets, 
who  take  delight  in  foreseeing  their  friends'  mis- 


284  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

fortunes.  Why  could  n't  you  have  done  something 
useful,  and  told  me  how  to  prevent  it  ?  " 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  prophet  doing  anything 
useful?" 

"  See  here,  Morris,"  said  Gordon,  sitting  up 
straight,  puffing  away  with  redoubled  vigor,  and 
looking  his  friend  earnestly  in  the  face.  "  See  here. 
I  haven't  done  right  about  this  business  at  all. 
The  first  minute  I  saw  the  thing  was  going  on,  I 
ought  to  have  had  a  frank  talk  with  Edgar.  I  ought 
to  have  told  him  what  good  grounds  I  had  to  know 
the  Countess's  character  thoroughly,  and  to  have 
made  it  plain  to  him  just  what  sort  of  a  woman  she 
was.  Probably  it  wouldn't  have  done  any  good." 

"  Certainly,  you  might  say,"  Morris  interjected. 

"  And  it  would  have  been  very  disagreeable." 

"  Very,"  was  the  sympathetic  echo. 

"And  I  didn't  do  it.  Instead,  I  have  hinted 
once  or  twice  vaguely  at  all  the  scandal  floating 
about,  as  if  I  had  heard  it  second  or  third  or  tenth 
hand.  Naturally  Edgar  paid  no  attention  to  it 
whatever.  If  I  tell  him  the  real  facts  now,  he  will 
think  I  am  inventing  the  whole  thing." 

"  I  should  if  I  were  he,"  suggested  the  comfort 
ing  commentator. 

"  And  yet,"  continued  Gordon  slowly,  "  I  shall 
do  it  just  the  same.  I  shan't  feel  that  I  have  made 
every  possible  effort  in  the  matter,  until  I  have  at 
least  appeared  to  speak  with  the  authority  of 
experience." 


THE  CRISIS  285 

"  Oh,  Rob,"  said  Morris,  smiling,  as  he  refilled 
his  pipe,  "  of  course  you  are  doing  the  right  thing. 
Tell  the  young  man  the  whole  story  of  your  unfor 
tunate  love  affair  and  what  a  thoroughly  wicked, 
abominable  creature  you  know  the  charming  Coun 
tess  to  be.  But  don't  suppose  that  you  will  ever 
appear  to  speak  with  authority  or  experience.  You 
aren't  built  that  way."  Then,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  he  went  on :  "  But  about  the  other  point. 
That  was  what  astonished  me,  you  know.  Miss 
Stanton  —  you  said  "  — 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Gordon,  "  I  'd  forgotten  her. 
That 's  another  charming  feature." 

"  You  said  she  wanted  to  marry  you." 

"  Did  I  ?  That  was  literary  gorgeousness.  I  like 
to  round  my  periods  effectively." 

"  With  the  name  of  a  young  lady  ?  " 

44  It  certainly  gives  them  a  charming  embonpoint. 
What  I  meant  was  simply,  that  I  want  to  marry 
her.  Can  you  imagine  anything  more  trying  under 
the  circumstances  ?  " 

44  Well,  that  depends.    Is  it  all  on  one  side  ?  " 

44  Don't  lay  traps  for  my  susceptible  vanity.  I 
have  reason  to  suppose  —  that  is  "  — 

"  I  understand."  And  Morris  added,  with  a 
sigh  of  envy:  "Why  the  deuce  is  it  that  they 
all  like  you  so  ?  I  suppose  you  don't  try  to  make 
them?" 

44  Don't  know  how." 

44  That 's  it.  Happy  blunderer !  And  the  papa  ?  " 


286  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

"  Does  n't  know  anything  about  it.  "We  like  each 
other,  though." 

Another  silence  of  a  minute  or  two,  with  more 
puffing  and  sipping.  Then  Gordon  went  on : 
"  Well,  what  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

"  Why  should  I  settle  it?  "  Morris  replied,  with 
mock  anger.  "  I  'm  not  your  confessor."  But  at 
a  deprecatory  gesture  from  Gordon,  he  added : 
"  Oh,  well,  if  you  want  my  advice,  I  should  ask  the 
young  lady  for  her  hand.  She  's  a  peach."  Gordon 
nodded  emphatically.  "  Of  course,  you  '11  get  a  wig 
ging  from  the  old  gentleman  at  home ;  but  you  '11 
get  that  anyway." 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  'm  going  to  do."  Gordon 
spoke  emphatically  and  decidedly  again.  "  I  'm  go 
ing  to  cable  to  him  to  come  out  here  and  then  throw 
myself  on  his  mercy." 

"  That  will  be  so  convenient  for  a  man  who  has 
half  a  dozen  railroads  and  trusts  and  so  forth  on  his 
hands!" 

"  What 's  the  use  of  being  worth  forty  or  fifty  mil 
lions,  if  you  can't  go  to  Europe  when  you  want  to  ?  " 

"  You  can't  be  worth  forty  or  fifty  millions  and 
do  anything  you  want  to,  so  far  as  I  see.  It  is  only 
those  who  have  nothing  who  can  do  whatever  they 
please." 

"Very  witty  and  sententious,"  said  Gordon, 
with  approval.  "  But  I  must  tear  myself  away.  My 
young  charge  will  be  getting  home ;  and  I  want  to 
have  the  interview  over." 


THE   CRISIS  287 

"You  have  my  sympathy,"  Morris  observed, 
standing  up  to  superintend  the  process  of  getting 
Gordon  into  his  overcoat.  "And  see  here,"  he 
went  on,  "  have  n't  I  advised  you  to  do  everything 
you  wanted  to  do  ?  " 

"  You  have,  you  have.  That 's  what  I  came  to 
you  for."  So,  with  a  cordial  good-night,  they  sep 
arated. 

It  is  not  necessary  that  we  should  follow  Gor 
don's  steps  on  his  way  home.  When  he  arrived 
there,  Edgar  Payne  had  not  returned,  although  it 
was  nearing  midnight,  and  Gordon  sat  himself 
down  to  wait.  Even  he  did  not  find  the  waiting 
very  pleasant  this  time.  It  was  not  that  he  had 
any  dread  of  anything  Edgar  might  say,  or  do  ; 
but  the  meeting,  in  itself  unpleasant,  seemed  to  be 
the  crisis  of  a  long  experience  of  unpleasantness, 
which  had  been  growing  in  intensity  as  it  ap 
proached  this  culmination.  Then,  since  his  mind 
naturally  refused  the  disagreeable,  as  a  cork  refuses 
to  stay  under  water,  he  remembered  that,  if  this 
was  the  crisis  and  the  culmination,  it  might  be 
followed  by  something  more  attractive ;  and  grad 
ually  his  thoughts  became  full  of  the  elements  of 
that  possible  attractiveness,  so  remaining  until 
he  was  disturbed  by  the  well-known  flat  and  heavy 
tread  outside.  Coming  to  himself,  he  hurried  to 
the  door. 

"  I  say,  Edgar,  step  in  here  just  a  minute.  I 
want  to  speak  to  you." 


288  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

"  It 's  late,"  was  the  discouraging  reply. 

"  Never  mind.  I  won't  keep  you  long,  but  what 
I  have  to  say  is  important." 

The  young  man  answered  nothing,  but  came  sulk 
ily  into  the  room  and  stood  near  the  door,  taking 
no  notice  of  the  chair  which  Gordon  pointed  out  to 
him.  This  was  not  a  very  propitious  beginning  cer 
tainly.  There  was  a  moment's  silence,  Gordon  also 
remaining  standing,  with  one  hand  in  his  pocket 
and  his  other  arm  resting  on  the  mantel.  At  length 
he  spoke.  "The  Countess 'Markovski  sent  for  me 
to  call  on  her  this  afternoon.  I  went." 

Still  no  reply ;  but  the  frown  on  Edgar's  face 
grew  blacker,  if  possible. 

Gordon  continued  slowly,  watching  his  compan 
ion  with  a  keen  glance  :  "  I  wonder  what  you 
would  say  if  you  knew  the  proposition  she  made 
tome?" 

Then  the  thundercloud  on  Edgar's  brow  burst : 
"  Proposition  she  made  to  you !  The  coolness  of 
it !  When  the  man  went  there  to  make  an  impu 
dent  proposition  himself !  " 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  asked  Gordon,  somewhat  taken 
aback. 

"What  is  this?  The  impudence  of  it!  Didn't 
you  go  there  yourself  to  get  her  to  help  you  to 
marry  that  Stanton  girl  ?  Answer  me  now,  did  n't 
you?" 

"  Oh,  that  was  the  way  of  it  ?  "  said  Gordon,  be 
ginning  to  take  in  the  humor  of  the  situation.  "And 


THE  CRISIS  289 

she  said,  perhaps,  that  I  offered  to  help  her  marry 
you  in  return,  did  n't  she  ?  See  here,  Edgar,  that 
woman  is  making  a  fool  of  you." 

"  I  dare  say.  I  'd  rather  have  her  do  it  than 
you." 

"  Can't  you  leave  me  out  of  the  question  ?  Ask 
all  Home  what  she  is.  Ask  Mrs.  Barton  "  —  Edgar 
made  a  gesture  of  perfect  impudence  —  "  ask  any 
decent  fellow,  if  you  know  any,  ask  "  — 

"  Come  !  "  cried  Edgar  roughly,  "  what 's  the  use 
of  all  this?  I  don't  believe  a  word  you  say,  you 
know.  And  if  I  did,  what  difference  would  it  make 
to  me  ?  What  do  you  know  about  it  anyway  ?  A 
parcel  of  lies  that  a  lot  of  old  women  and  lazy 
loafers  like  you  get  together  and  hatch  up  —  they 
would  spoil  the  character  of  an  angel.  You  can't 
prove  anything.  If  that 's  all  you  've  got  to  talk 
about,  I  '11  go  to  bed." 

He  turned  and  laid  his  hand  on  the  door  knob. 
"  Hold  on  a  minute,"  murmured  Gordon.  Then  he 
paused,  while  Edgar  waited  with  the  knob  half- 
turned. 

"  Well,"  growled  the  latter  at  length,  "  speak  up, 
can't  you  ?  You  're  infernally  slow." 

It  was  hard  work,  awfully  hard  work.  Gordon 
had  n't  realized  what  it  would  be,  till  the  tug  came. 
He  still  stood  in  the  same  position,  his  arm  on  the 
mantel,  his  head  resting  on  his  hand,  reflecting  even 
now,  at  the  last  minute,  whether  it  was  not  better 
to  hold  his  tongue.  At  length  he  spoke :  "  You 


290  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

say  I  have  no  proof  and  you  force  me  to  tell  you 
what  I  had  rather  not  have  told  you.  I  am  the 
last  person  to  make  unfounded  assertions  about  a 
woman's  character ;  but  it  so  happens  that  in 
this  case  I  know  more  than  you  suppose.  Three 
years  ago,  when  I  was  here,  I  —  the  Countess 
Markovski "  — 

But  Edgar  let  go  the  door  knob,  took  three  steps 
right  close  up  to  Gordon,  and  shook  his  fist  in  his 
face.  "  You  damned  liar,"  he  said  in  fury,  "  you 
damned,  insolent  liar.  I  know  all  about  that  story. 
She  's  told  me  the  mean  trick  you  played  her.  And 
what  a  fool  you  are  too !  Don't  you  suppose  I  can 
see  that  if  you  had  anything  true  to  tell,  you  would 
have  told  it  long  enough  ago,  told  it  all  the  first 
day,  when  you  tried  to  set  me  against  the  smartest 
woman  alive  ?  You  claim  that  you  did  n't  like  to 
hurt  her  character!  Huh!  Don't  I  know  you? 
It 's  much  you  'd  care  about  hurting  her  character, 
if  there  was  any  lie  you  could  get  up  that  would  do 
you  any  good.  But  they  won't !  They  won't !  They 
won't !  " 

The  fellow  had  worked  his  cold  temper  into  an 
unnatural  frenzy ;  and  if  his  tutor  had  shown  the 
slightest  sign  of  fear,  doubtless  there  would  have 
been  a  set-to  on  the  spot.  But  Gordon  was  per 
fectly  brave  in  a  quiet  way,  and  paying  no  more 
heed  to  Edgar's  fist  than  to  his  insolence,  he  kept 
the  same  tranquil  posture,  without  taking  his  hand 
from  his  pocket  or  his  arm  from  the  mantel.  It  was 


THE  CRISIS  291 

impossible  for  Edgar  to  do  anything  against  such 
an  attitude  as  this. 

When  his  wrath  had  spent  itself  in  a  sufficient 
amount  of  ugly  imprecation  and  he  had  drawn 
away  a  step  or  two,  Gordon  said  serenely :  "  Have 
you  done  ?  " 

"  Done  with  you,  by  God,  yes,"  was  the  hoarse 
reply. 

"  Then  go." 

"  I  will  go  ;  but  if  ever  I  hear  of  your  telling 
any  of  this  damned  nonsense  again  about  my  wife 
—  she  will  be  my  wife,  do  you  hear  that  ?  She 
will !  "  When  he  had  gone  out  of  the  door,  he 
put  his  head  back  once  more  into  the  room  and 
shouted :  "  She  will !  " 

"  Ouf !  "  said  Gordon,  drawing  a  long  breath. 
"  Have  I  got  to  the  end  yet  ?  "  It  was  not  all  over 
certainly,  since  there  was  Papa  Payne  to  be  met 
and  a  little  explanation  there  not  very  pleasant 
to  anticipate.  Still,  it  did  seem  as  if  he  had  got 
by  the  worst  ;  and,  as  he  went  to  bed,  he  was  sur 
prised  to  find  that  he  had  absolutely  no  feeling  of 
irritation  against  Edgar  —  a  touch  of  pity  rather. 
If  he  could  have  saved  him  even  now  and  mar 
ried  him  to  Priscilla,  he  would  have  tried  to  make 
the  sacrifice,  so  far  as  he  himself  was  concerned  — 
but  he  was  glad  there  was  no  necessity  for  such  a 
trial.  Then  he  remembered  Edgar's  saying  that 
Antonia  had  told  him  all  about  her  relations  with 
himself.  Forestalled  again  !  How  clever  she  was ! 


292  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

How  he  would  like  to  know  what  extraordinary 
version  of  the  affair  her  lively  imagination  had 
concocted ! 

Meanwhile,  if  Mr.  Payne  were  needed  at  all,  he 
was  needed  now.  So  the  next  morning,  early,  Gor 
don  sent  the  following  dispatch :  "  Come  at  once. 
Will  write  Liverpool." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

AN   ARCH^OLOGICAL  FAILURE 

WHEN  Gordon  had  sent  his  cable,  it  seemed  to  him 
that  it  would  be  better  to  leave  Rome  until  affairs 
should  have  reached  a  new  stage.  It  so  happened 
that  on  the  preceding  evening  Morris  and  his 
friends  had  planned  a  short  trip  of  two  or  three 
weeks  to  Siena,  partly  for  artistic  purposes,  partly 
for  mere  diversion.  They  had  urged  Gordon  to  join 
them,  but  he  had  given  no  positive  answer,  waiting 
to  see  what  twenty-four  hours  would  bring  about. 
Now,  he  thought,  on  the  whole,  that  he  could  not 
do  better  than  go.  So  he  went,  starting  with  the 
rest,  by  the  noon  train  that  day. 

He  had  seen  nothing  of  Edgar  in  the  morning, 
but  he  left  word  of  his  destination  with  the  con 
cierge,  so  that  he  might  be  informed  if  anything 
particular  happened.  Especially,  he  left  directions 
that  any  telegram  should  be  forwarded  at  once. 

Just  before  starting,  he  wrote  a  little  note  to 
Priscilla  as  follows :  "  Dear  Miss  Stanton,  —  I  have 
cabled  to  Mr.  Payne  to  come  out  here,  if  possible. 
It  seemed  the  best  thing  to  do.  Meantime,  I  am 
running  up  to  Siena  for  two  or  three  weeks  (Al- 
bergo  della  Scala).  I  shall  return  the  instant  I  have 


294  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

definite  news  of  Mr.  Payne  and  shall  hope  to  see 
you,  the  instant  I  return.  Most  sincerely  yours, 
Robert  Gordon." 

The  day  after  he  reached  Siena,  he  received  a 
reply,  in  a  handwriting  he  had  already  learned  to 
study  and  to  love  :  "  Dear  Mr.  Gordon,  —  You 
have  done  just  the  right  thing,  I  am  sure.  We 
shall  be  glad  to  see  you  as  soon  as  you  come  back. 
Sincerely  yours,  Priscilla  Stan  ton." 

Ten  or  twelve  days  ran  away  pleasantly  enough 
at  Siena.  Gordon  could  not  have  been  a  pining 
lover,  if  he  had  wished  it ;  and  I  do  not  think  he 
wished  it.  He  was  with  gay  young  fellows,  who 
knew  how  to  amuse  themselves  ;  and  no  one  of 
them  understood  the  art  better  than  he.  On  fine 
days  they  rambled  about  the  streets  or  took  long 
drives  or  walks  into  the  country.  When  it  rained, 
as  it  frequently  did,  they  sought  refuge  in  galleries 
and  churches,  or  congregated  in  the  studios  of  the 
few  artists  who  had  the  courage  to  establish  them 
selves  for  any  length  of  time  in  the  beautiful,  but 
sepulchral  city.  The  evenings  were  passed  in 
theatres  and  cafes,  which  were,  perhaps,  none  the 
less  attractive  for  the  faint  odor  of  the  mediaeval 
that  belongs  to  everything  in  the  place. 

What  pleased  Gordon  was  the  sense  of  freedom. 
He  had  been  used  to  being  free  all  his  life,  too 
used  to  it ;  and  the  slavery  of  the  last  six  months 
had  become  simply  intolerable.  Now  he  was  his 
own  man  again,  not  obliged  to  pose  perpetually 


AN  ARCHAEOLOGICAL   FAILURE      295 

as  a  model  of  manners  and  graces  to  a  young  im 
possible,  not  bound  to  lie  awake  framing  lectures 
on  the  cardinal  virtues  to  be  delivered  to  an  unap- 
preciative  audience.  Then,  too,  all  the  preciousness 
of  liberty  was  sweetened,  as  with  the  faint,  de 
licious  breath  of  lilies,  by  the  memory  of  a  fair, 
merry  face,  grown  more  precious  to  him  now  than 
even  liberty. 

The  only  break  in  his  halcyon  tranquillity  was 
the  necessity  of  writing  a  letter  to  Mr.  Payne  at 
Liverpool.  This  task  he  accomplished,  inside  of 
the  first  week,  by  setting  himself  to  it  with  repeated 
efforts.  It  was  a  long  letter  and  need  hardly  be 
set  down  here.  In  it  Gordon  tried  to  give  —  and 
in  the  main  succeeded  in  giving  —  an  honest  ac 
count  of  the  gradual  progress  of  events  up  to  his 
departure  from  Kome.  Naturally,  he  said  nothing 
directly  of  his  own  former  love  for  the  Countess 
Markovski ;  but  he  spoke  rather  favorably  of  that 
lady,  thinking  that  she  would  probably  be  Mrs. 
Edgar  Payne,  and  that  there  was,  therefore,  no 
need  of  unduly  prejudicing  her  future  father-in-law 
against  her.  The  match  was,  of  course,  a  very,  very 
undesirable  one,  he  said,  and  he  had  done  every 
thing  that  lay  in  his  power  to  prevent  it,  even  to 
the  point  of  endeavoring  to  buy  the  lady  off.  Still, 
she  was  a  woman  of  the  world,  cultivated,  intelli 
gent,  accustomed  to  good  society,  and  might,  in 
some  respects,  do  Edgar  an  immense  deal  of  good. 
In  his  own  heart  of  hearts  Gordon  thought,  though 


296  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

he  did  not  write  it,  that  such  a  marriage  might  be 
the  best  thing  that  had  ever  happened  to  Edgar 
in  his  life. 

What  to  say  about  Priscilla,  he  did  not  know. 
It  did  seem  intolerable,  certainly,  to  write  that  he 
was  in  love  with  the  young  lady  and  should  pro 
pose  to  her  as  soon  as  Mr.  Payne  arrived.  Yet  if 
such  were  the  fact,  it  ought  to  be  stated ;  and  such 
evidently  was  the  fact.  He  therefore  contrived 
some  miserable  circumlocution,  as  he  himself  felt 
it  to  be,  neither  excusing  nor  accusing  his  own 
conduct,  but  halting  between  the  two ;  and  after 
rewriting  and  remodeling,  in  the  wearisome  fashion 
which  always  makes  a  bad  matter  worse,  he  sent 
off  his  epistle.  In  any  case,  there  must  be  a 
very  disagreeable  interview  between  himself  and 
Mr.  Payne  when  the  latter  should  arrive.  No 
thing  that  he  could  write  beforehand  would  make 
that  much  easier.  And  when  that  was  once  over, 
everything  would  be  over,  so  far  as  he  was  con 
cerned. 

As  to  Mr.  Payne's  attitude  in  the  matter,  Gor 
don  often  reflected  very  curiously,  and  very  sympa 
thetically  also.  How  would  he  take  it  ?  That  he 
understood  Edgar  thoroughly  and  had  no  great 
affection  for  him  Gordon  shrewdly  suspected.  But 
the  father  was  a  proud  man,  and  especially  a  man 
who  liked  his  own  way  and  was  accustomed  to  hav 
ing  it.  Would  he  be  rough  and  angry?  Would 
he  be  hurt  and  sensitive  ?  Would  he  see,  by  any 


AN   ARCHAEOLOGICAL   FAILURE      297 

chance,  the  humor  of  the  thing  and  enter  into  it  in 
a  spirit  of  philosophic  appreciation  ?  These  ques 
tions  were  rather  anxiously  debated  in  the  inter 
vals  left  by  Sodoma  and  Pinturicchio,  beer  and 
cigars,  and  the  merry  song  and  jest  of  an  idle 
company. 

When  nearly  two  weeks  had  passed  and  Gor 
don  began  to  think  he  had  better  be  making  his 
way  back,  without  regard  to  telegrams,  he  received 
one  morning  the  following  brief  note  from  Edgar : 
"  Dear  Gordy,  —  She  will  be  mine  at  last.  Mar 
riage  to-morrow  night.  You  'd  better  come  back, 
you  know.  She  wants  to  see  you.  Yours,  etc., 
E.  Payne." 

Gordon  made  no  reply  to  this  note,  not  having 
the  slightest  desire  to  see  either  Edgar  or  his  wife. 
On  the  very  next  afternoon,  however,  a  dispatch 
from  Liverpool  was  forwarded  to  Siena.  "  Shall 
be  in  Rome  Tuesday  noon.  Hotel  Royal."  There 
was  no  time  to  be  lost,  and,  bidding  good-by  to 
Morris  and  the  rest,  Gordon  took  the  night  train, 
feeling  that  the  critical  tide  in  his  affairs  was  very 
near  the  flood. 

As  soon  as  he  reached  Rome,  he  went  directly  to 
his  lodgings  and  inquired  for  Edgar,  but  was  told 
that  he  had  been  absent  a  great  deal  of  late,  often 
not  returning  even  at  night.  This  seemed  perfectly 
natural  under  the  circumstances,  and  without  giv 
ing  the  matter  any  further  thought,  the  eager  lover 
at  once  hastened  to  Hotel  Bristol.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 


298  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

Stanton  were  both  out ;  but  Priscilla  was  at  home 
and  received  her  visitor  immediately. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  holding  her  hand  a  moment 
longer  than  propriety  required,  "well,  here  I 
am." 

"  Which  means,  I  suppose,  that  Mr.  Payne  has 
arrived.  Have  you  seen  him?"  She  spoke  with 
that  indifferent  frankness  which  women,  trained 
from  their  infancy,  can  so  easily  assume,  talking 
about  the  weather,  or  the  musical  glasses,  or  any 
thing  but  the  subject  which  is  nearest  their  hearts 
and  must  be  furthest  from  their  tongues.  Gor 
don's  spirit  sank  within  him  and  he  told  himself 
he  had  been  a  fool.  Well,  he  could  go  out  as  a 
private  to  the  Philippines  and  lead  a  strenuous  life 
still.  Meantime,  she  had  asked  him  a  question. 

"No,  I  haven't  seen  him.  He  hasn't  arrived 
yet,  I  imagine.  Will  be  here  this  noon." 

«  Ah !  "  she  said.    "  And  Edgar  ?  " 

"  Married." 

"  You  don't  mean  it.    Who  told  you  ?  " 

"  He  wrote  me  a  note  with  his  own  fair  hand  and 
invited  me  to  return  and  congratulate  the  bride." 

"  Well,  so  you  ought."  They  had  been  standing 
hitherto,  but  now  Priscilla  suggested  chairs.  This 
did  not  suit  Gordon,  however.  He  had  a  good  deal 
to  say  and  he  did  not  care  to  risk  being  interrupted 
at  an  important  moment. 

"  Why  not  go  out  somewhere  ?  "  he  suggested. 
"  It  is  so  much  pleasanter." 


AN  ARCHAEOLOGICAL   FAILURE      299 

"  I  should  like  it  of  all  things.  Do  you  know,  I 
was  wishing  the  other  day  that  you  would  show  me 
the  Palatine.  I  have  been  there,  of  course  ;  but  it 
is  different  when  one  has  one's  own  guide  all  to 
one's  self.  Will  you  take  me  there  this  morning  ?  " 

There  was  more  of  the  old,  sweet,  intimate  man 
ner  in  this,  and  Gordon  began  to  revive.  "  The 
Palatine,  by  all  means,"  he  answered.  "  Nothing 
would  suit  me  better." 

Priscilla  could  get  ready  as  quickly  as  any  girl, 
which,  of  course,  is  not  very  quickly  from  a  man's 
point  of  view;  but  in  fifteen  minutes  they  were 
making  their  way  through  the  crowded  streets  in 
a  melancholy  cab.  As  they  went  along,  Priscilla, 
who  seemed  to  Gordon  to  feel  an  unusual  and 
painful  necessity  for  conversation,  went  into  a  not 
very  interesting  description  of  her  doings  during 
the  past  two  weeks,  the  names  of  various  places 
and  people  getting  themselves  oddly  mixed  up  with 
the  harsh  Italian  street  cries  and  the  rattle  of  in 
numerable  vehicles. 

When  they  had  parted  with  the  cab,  however, 
and  had  entered  the  sacred  precincts  of  the  palace 
of  the  Caesars,  everything  was  different.  It  was  im 
possible  for  Priscilla  to  be  nervous  or  restless  amid 
the  quiet  loveliness  of  the  loveliest  of  ruins,  and  in 
a  minute  she  settled  down  into  her  customary  tran 
quil  sunny  mood.  The  day  was  as  fair  and  fit  for 
love-making  as  that  inclement  season  could  afford 
them.  The  west  wind,  blowing  strong  and  fresh 


300  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

after  a  storm,  had  swept  every  bit  of  vapor  from 
the  clear  heaven,  but  had  not  brought  any  trace  of 
bitterness  or  cold.  The  fresh  morning  fog  had 
covered  the  ivy  and  the  stones  with  moisture. 
The  birds  sang  clear  and  loud.  In  the  sunny  nooks 
a  flower  still  lingered  here  and  there,  brave  and 
defiant  of  the  wintry  season. 

Our  two  sight-seers  made  their  way  leisurely 
round  the  back  of  the  hill,  past  the  walls  of  the 
primitive  city,  and  so  to  the  summit.  But  I  fear 
their  minds  were  less  on  the  past  than  on  the 
present. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Priscilla  suddenly,  "  I  have 
an  idea." 

"  Ah,  that 's  very  interesting,"  was  the  sympa 
thetic  response. 

"  It  is  interesting.  Just  as  soon  as  ever  I  get 
home,  I  shall  send  and  invite  Mr.  Payne  —  uncle 
Harrison,  I  call  him  —  to  dine  with  us  to-night." 

"  That  will  be  very  interesting  —  certainly  — 
for  uncle  Harrison." 

"  Stop  a  minute.  I  expect  you  to  come  to  —  and 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Edgar.  Won't  that  be  fun  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Gordon,  with  decision.  "  I  think  it 
would  be  the  messiest  kind  of  a  mess  I  ever  got 
into.  Pray,  don't  think  me  rude." 

"  No,  not  rude,  but  very  disagreeable.  —  Let  me 
see,  I  think  you  said  this  was  the  palace  of  Tiberius?  " 

So  they  resumed  their  archaeological  investiga 
tions  and  Gordon  strove  to  do  his  duty  like  a  man. 


AN   ARCHAEOLOGICAL   FAILURE      301 

They  explored  the  house  of  Livia,  then  the  palace 
of  Augustus.  Gordon  explained  the  method  of  as 
certaining  the  age  of  any  particular  ruin  by  the 
quality  of  the  brickwork,  pointed  out  the  names 
of  the  manufacturers  engraven  on  the  lead  water 
pipes,  and  otherwise  displayed  all  that  he  knew  on 
the  subject  and  a  good  deal  more,  as  one  does  on 
such  occasions.  It  was  very  proper  and  very  instruc 
tive  ;  but  they  both  felt  that  it  was  rather  hollow, 
as  compared  with  their  day  at  Hadrian's  Villa. 
Ruins  make  a  most  satisfactory  foundation  for 
love-making,  but  when  it  comes  to  the  superstruc 
ture  they  leave  something  to  be  desired. 

After  an  hour  or  so  of  this  kind  of  thing,  they 
found  themselves  in  a  sunny  nook  at  the  back  of 
the  hill,  looking  toward  the  south.  It  might  have 
been  the  cabinet  of  some  deceased  emperor,  where 
he  made  the  world  tremble  with  the  nod  of  his 
after-dinner  nap.  They  cared  very  little  what  it 
might  have  been ;  but  at  that  moment  it  was  full 
of  the  soft  noon  sunshine.  While  they  sat  there 
quiet,  a  small  green  lizard  started  out  from  the 
weeds  and  ran  with  marvelous  lightness  up  the 
wall  beside  them.  Far  away,  they  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  distant  mountains  and  the  bare  hills  of  the 
Campagna. 

Suddenly,  without  any  premeditation  whatever, 
Gordon  rose  and  stood  in  front  of  Priscilla,  look 
ing  down  into  her  eyes,  which  were  raised  to  his  in 
wonder  at  the  precipitancy  of  his  action.  "  Miss 


302  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

Priscilla  Stanton,"  he  said,  "  I  have  decided  to 
throw  over  all  considerations  of  duty,  gentlemanli- 
ness,  and  general  respectability,  and  ask  you  for 
the  honor  of  your  hand." 

Priscilla,  too,  rose.  Her  color  was  a  little  height 
ened,  but  she  continued  to  look  at  him  steadily 
from  under  the  shadow  of  her  brown  hat,  and  a 
sweet,  quiet,  little  smile  played  round  the  corners 
of  her  mouth.  "Mr.  Robert  Gordon,"  she  an 
swered,  as  clearly  as  if  she  were  pronouncing  the 
marriage  vow,  "  you  know  very  well  that  if  you 
were  throwing  over  any  one  of  those  fine  things,  I 
would  not  give  you  my  little  finger.  Here  is  my 
hand."  And  she  gave  it  to  him,  and  they  sat  down 
again.  It  was  a  broad,  flat  stone  that  they  had 
chosen,  large  enough  for  two,  under  the  circum 
stances,  and  no  face  of  prying  Italian  guide,  or 
sight-thirsty  American  wanderer,  happened  to  turn 
the  corner  while  they  sat  there.  Yet  I  dare  say 
the  Countess  Markovski  would  have  thought  them 
a  very  frigid  pair  of  lovers.  I  myself  admit  that 
their  affection  was  of  a  calm  and  tranquil  char 
acter  ;  but  I  think  it  was  destined  to  hold  deeper 
and  last  longer  than  some  that  flame  up  with  more 
volcanic  fury. 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  to  have  spoken  to  your 
father  first,"  remarked  Gordon,  a  little  later, 
"  but  the  circumstances  were  peculiar." 

"  Yes,"  Priscilla  agreed,  "  they  were  peculiar. 
I  am  glad  you  spoke  to  me  first." 


AN  ARCHAEOLOGICAL  FAILURE      303 

«  What  will  he  say  ?  " 

"He  will  be  pleased  and  proud,  as  he  ought 
to  be." 

"  That  is  very  kind  of  you.  But  I  am  so  awfully 
poor,  you  know." 

"  But  he  is  so  awfully  rich,  you  know.  Just 
now  he  is  putting  up  daily  thanksgivings  for  his 
escape  from  a  rich  son-in-law." 

"  But  I  must  go  to  work,"  Gordon  urged.  "  It 
will  be  ages  before  I  can  earn  enough  to  provide 
you  with  carriages,  and  gowns,  and  that  sort  of 
thing." 

"  Well,  I  can't  be  happy  without  carriages,  and 
gowns,  and  that  sort  of  thing ;  but  I  'm  not  in  the 
least  worried.  You  shall  work.  I  '11  see  that  you 
do.  There  now,  let 's  talk  of  something  else.  To 
return  to  my  dinner." 

"  Oh,  yes,  that  dinner." 

"  Do  you  still  disapprove  of  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  think  it  will  be  queer,  you  know." 

"  Of  course  it  will  be  queer  at  first ;  but  that 
would  all  wear  off.  You  men  don't  know  how  to 
manage  these  things.  I  '11  arrange  to  see  uncle 
Harrison  before  papa  comes,  and  I  '11  make  him 
forgive  everybody.  Only  will  Edgar  and  Mrs. 
Edgar  come  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  they  '11  come.    She  '11  make  him." 

"  By  the  way,"  added  Priscilla.  She  went  on  to 
ask  a  few  more  explanations  in  regard  to  Gordon 
himself  and  the  Countess  Markovski.  Very  little 


304  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

was  needed  between  two  souls  so  perfectly  honest 
and  loyal  to  make  it  clear  that  the  future  Mrs. 
Gordon  need  not  give  a  moment  of  anxiety  in  that 
direction. 

"  Now,"  said  Gordon,  "  for  Mr.  Payne."  He 
looked  at  his  watch  and  gave  a  long  whistle  of 
dismay. 

"  Mr.  Payne  ?   What  about  him  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  Only  he  was  to  arrive  at  noon  and 
it  is  after,  now.  I  must  go  and  quickly." 

"  You  had  better  leave  it  all  to  me.  Just  wait 
till  I  see  him  this  evening.  I  will  explain  every 
thing." 

"  That  is  a  very  sweet  offer ;  but  I  don't  think 
I  can  begin  shielding  myself  behind  you  —  yet.  I 
dare  say  I  shall  soon  enough." 

"  But  you  will  not  have  a  pleasant  time  at  all. 
You  may  spoil  everything." 

"  You  express  my  own  feelings  exactly.  Never 
theless  "  —  and  Gordon  got  up,  as  if  to  move  on. 

"  We  have  so  much  to  talk  over,"  said  Priscilla, 
pouting. 

Gordon  sat  down  and  attended  to  the  pout. 
"  You  don't  think  I  want  to  go,"  he  murmured. 
"  Let  us  stay  here  forever." 

But  Priscilla,  having  gained  her  point,  changed 
her  mind,  as  was  to  be  expected.  "  No,"  she  sighed, 
"  we  must  go  !  "  She  got  up  in  her  turn.  Before 
they  started,  however,  she  gave  one  more  thought 
ful  look  about  her.  "  We  shall  remember  this 


AN   ARCH^OLOGICAL   FAILURE      305 

spot,"  she  murmured  softly.  "  It  is  sacred  to  Caesar 
—  and  to  us.  Perhaps  we  shall  come  here  again, 
in  a  dozen  years  or  so." 

"  Or  to-morrow  ?  "  Gordon  suggested. 

"  No,  not  to-morrow.  It  would  not  seem  quite 
the  same  to-morrow." 

They  made  their  way  quickly  back  toward  the 
gate,  the  warm  light  of  noon  falling  rich  and  mel 
low  about  them,  and  the  pale,  wintry  verdure 
gleaming  in  it,  over  the  eternal  tranquillity  of  those 
sombre  walls,  which  had  seen  and  sheltered  so 
many,  many  other  lovers.  Gordon,  urging  the  for 
lorn  cab-driver  to  unprecedented  speed,  left  Pris- 
cilla  at  home,  and  then  drove  to  meet  his  fate  at 
the  Hotel  Royal. 


CHAPTER  XXV 
THE  TUTOR'S  AUDIT 

HARRISON  PAYNE  was  a  very  remarkable  man. 
Born  in  New  England,  of  an  old  and  most  re 
spected  family,  he  had  lost  his  father  when  quite 
young  and  his  mother  had  been  wholly  unable  to 
manage  him.  At  an  early  age  he  had  run  away 
from  home,  wandered  out  to  what  was  then  the 
west  —  Illinois  —  and  plunged  into  the  struggle  for 
existence,  with  all  the  ardor  of  his  Yankee  blood. 
Though  a  rapid  reader  of  such  books  as  came  in 
his  way,  he  had  had  little  regular  education  and 
had  hardly  felt  the  need  of  it.  What  was  most  in 
teresting  about  him,  what  had  made  his  success, 
was  the  union  of  a  romantic,  sensitive,  imagina 
tive  temperament,  always  carefully  concealed  under 
the  sternest  reserve,  with  an  unalterable  will.  In 
the  Middle  Ages  he  would  have  been  a  terrible 
knight-errant.  In  modern  America  he  was  a  ter 
rible  man  of  business  ;  not  one  of  the  plodders, 
who  make  money  because  it  comes  in  their  way, 
but  restless,  scheming,  full  of  vast,  ideal  enter 
prises,  yet  always  reducing  those  enterprises  to  the 
sternest  rules  of  practical  common  sense.  This  was 
what  made  him  feared  at  the  Exchange.  You  never 


THE  TUTOR'S  AUDIT  307 

knew  what  extraordinary  and  portentous  combina 
tion  he  was  holding  up  his  sleeve. 

His  heart  was  as  tender  as  a  child's,  if  you  could 
touch  it.  He  loved  strong  and  strongly  contrasted 
emotions.  The  theatre  enchanted  him.  The  tears 
would  run  down  his  cheeks  at  the  crisis  of  a  sen 
timental  melodrama ;  and  then,  when  the  act  drop 
fell,  he  would  cry  out :  "  Now  let 's  have  a  little  of 
that  snare  drum."  Poverty  and  suffering  appealed 
to  him  at  once  :  he  would  do  anything  to  relieve 
them.  Yet  neither  poverty  nor  suffering,  no  thing 
and  no  body,  counted  for  a  moment,  as  an  inter 
ference  with  the  execution  of  his  plans. 

It  was  into  the  presence  of  this  personage  that 
Gordon  was  ushered,  in  a  private  parlor  at  the 
Hotel  Royal ;  and  the  young  man  entered  not  with 
out  certain  tremors,  it  must  be  confessed.  Mr. 
Payne  was  tall,  very  slight,  somewhat  awkward 
and  ungainly  in  movement ;  and  so  far  there  was 
resemblance  to  Edgar,  although  the  father  had 
something  dignified,  even  in  his  awkwardness.  But 
the  face  and  head  were  altogether  different  from 
Edgar's.  An  abundance  of  somewhat  coarse  black 
hair  was  brushed  up  high  from  the  broad,  low 
forehead.  The  lower  part  of  the  face  was  thin,  and 
the  chin  not  large,  though  strong  and  cleanly  cut. 
The  nose  was  rather  prominent  and  the  cheek 
bones  ;  but  the  feature  which  at  once  seized  your 
attention  was  the  great  brown  eyes,  which  could 
be  filled  with  infinite  depths  of  tenderness,  and 


308  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

could  veil  themselves,  as  it  were,  and  be  as  hard  as 
steel. 

The  eyes  were  hard  when  Gordon  entered  the 
room,  and  they  continued  so.  Mr.  Payne  shook 
hands  with  him,  received  him  with  all  necessary 
courtesy,  uttered  no  word  of  reproach  or  unkind- 
ness  ;  but  his  air  was  exactly  that  with  which  he 
would  have  received  a  drummer  who  had  taken 
charge  of  a  valuable  case  of  goods  and  had  it 
stolen.  Oh,  that  business  manner!  How  often  a 
man,  and  especially  a  woman,  feels  it,  happening 
to  visit  a  friend,  even  a  relative,  at  noonday,  in 
a  down-town  office  !  It  seems  as  if  an  armor  were 
put  on,  stiff,  formal,  impenetrable,  selfish ;  and 
the  creature  inside  of  it  is  so  different  from 
the  man  at  home,  standing  on  the  hearth  rug,  or 
dawdling  over  his  eggs  Sunday  morning,  in  old 
coat  and  slippers.  Never  once  during  the  inter 
view  did  Mr.  Payne  drop  that  business  manner. 
Never  once  did  his  eyes  gleam  or  his  lip  tremble. 
Gordon  would  a  thousand  times  rather  have  been 
sworn  at. 

When  they  were  seated,  Mr.  Payne  drew  Gor 
don's  letter  from  his  pocket.  "  I  have  here  yours 
of  the  eighth,"  he  said ;  "  but  I  do  not  find  it  in 
all  respects  perfectly  clear.  Perhaps  you  will  allow 
me  to  ask  you  a  few  questions." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Gordon.  Then  he  went  on, 
with  one  vain  attempt  to  get  in  first  and  plead  his 
cause  in  his  own  way.  "  Mr.  Payne,"  he  began,  "  if 


THE  TUTOR'S   AUDIT  309 

you  will  allow  me,  there  are  a  few  things  I  should 
like  to  say"  — 

But  Mr.  Payne  interrupted,  with  quiet  bland- 
ness  :  "  Pardon  me ;  but  I  always  find  more  is 
accomplished  by  proceeding  in  an  orderly,  business 
like  manner." 

Gordon  drooped  and  made  no  further  efforts. 
The  one  thing  now  was  to  get  it  over. 

"I  believe,"  Mr.  Payne  inquired,  as  if  really 
seeking  information,  "  that  you  had  some  difficul 
ties  with  my  son  before  your  arrival  in  Rome  ? 
Am  I  correctly  informed  ?  " 

"  Perfectly.    I  never  had  anything  else." 

"  I  think,  however,  that  you  never  suggested 
making  any  change  in  the  arrangement  ?  " 

"  It  was  my  impression  that  I  was  paid  because 
I  was  to  have  difficulties." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Mr.  Payne.  Then  he  continued, 
still  holding  the  letter  in  his  hand,  but  not  in  any 
way  referring  to  it :  "  After  your  arrival  in  Rome, 
you  made  efforts  to  keep  Edgar  in  contact  with 
respectable  people  ?  " 

"  I  did." 

"And  failed?" 

"  Most  lamentably." 

"  But  it  was  through  you  that  he  first  met  this 
person  —  what  is  her  name  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Edgar  Payne.  I  would  have  mentioned 
it  at  first,  if  you  had  thought  best." 

Mr.  Payne  did  not  alter  his  manner  in  the  least, 


310  THE   PRIVATE  TUTOR 

but  merely  said  :  "  Already  ?  You  have  put  me  to 
useless  trouble,  it  seems." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  was  the  humble  response. 

"  It  was  through  you,  then,  that  he  became  ac 
quainted  with  her  ?  " 

"  It  was." 

"  Yet  you  knew  her  character  ?  " 

"  I  did.  But  pray  believe  that  as  soon  as  I  saw 
what  was  going  on  "  — 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Payne,  with  the  same  deadly 
quiet,  "  I  understand.  Now  as  to  Miss  Stanton." 
Gordon  squirmed ;  but  his  tormentor  either  did 
not  notice  or  did  not  care.  "  Your  efforts  to  bring 
my  son  into  her  society  totally  failed  ?  " 

"  Never  anything  more  so." 

"And  as  far  as  I  can  make  out  from  this," 
touching  the  letter,  "  which  is  not  very  explicit  on 
the  point,  so  soon  as  you  found  that  she  would 
have  nothing  to  say  to  Edgar,  you  began  to  pay 
attention  to  her  yourself.  Again,  am  I  right  ?  " 

Gordon  hesitated,  in  very  great  and  evident  dis 
tress.  Finally  he  said :  "  Yes,  although  I  should 
like  to  put  the  matter  differently." 

"  Facts  are  what  we  are  looking  for  in  business," 
said  Mr.  Payne.  "  Ways  of  putting  them  are  so 
apt  to  be  misleading."  Then  he  placed  the  let 
ter  in  the  breast  pocket  of  his  coat  and  buttoned 
the  coat  over  it.  "Mr.  Gordon,"  he  said,  "I  do 
not  think  we  have  anything  further  to  say  to 
each  other.  If  you  will  send  me  your  account  at 


THE   TUTOR'S   AUDIT  311 

your  earliest  convenience,  it  will  be  settled  imme 
diately." 

As  he  spoke,  he  rose  from  his  chair,  and  Gordon 
was  compelled  to  rise  also.  The  bitter  coldness  of 
this  reception,  which  was  not  quite  what  he  had 
expected,  took  him  entirely  aback.  Yet  now,  when, 
if  ever,  it  was  manifestly  his  turn,  he  could  not 
control  the  flood  of  feeling  which  rushed  to  his 
lips.  "  Mr.  Payne,"  he  cried,  in  anguish,  "  Mr. 
Payne,  I  could  put  this  all  so  differently  "  — 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Mr.  Payne,  "  but  I  have  al 
ready  said  that  I  do  not  believe  in  different  ways 
of  putting  things.  Good-afternoon."  Then  he 
turned  and  walked  out  of  the  room. 

After  all,  Gordon  did  not  know  what  he  could 
have  said.  Mr.  Payne's  clear,  hard  statement  of 
the  matter  was,  in  a  certain  sense,  the  absolute 
truth.  Any  attempt  at  excuse  would  have  involved 
accusation  of  Edgar,  of  Antonia,  of  Mr.  Payne 
himself,  of  Priscilla  even.  It  was  better  to  take  the 
punishment  in  silence. 

Nevertheless,  as  he  left  the  Hotel  Royal  his  gen 
eral  impression  was  that  his  best  course  would  be 
to  throw  himself  into  the  Tiber.  Yet  the  Tiber  was 
such  a  very  muddy  and  disgusting  stream.  The 
idea  of  what  his  friends  would  see,  when  he  was 
fished  out,  was  unpleasant  to  his  aesthetic  suscepti 
bilities.  Besides,  he  had  promised  to  dine  with 
Priscilla. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
WHAT  CAME  OF  IT  ALL 

PKISCILLA  had  laid  her  plan  of  campaign  with 
great  care.  She  had  made  her  father  send  a  note 
to  Mr.  Payne,  explaining  that  he  was  prevented 
from  calling  that  afternoon,  but  hoped  that  his  old 
friend  would  dine  with  them.  Mr.  Payne  had  re 
plied  that  he  would,  at  any  rate,  call,  somewhere 
between  five  and  six,  "  implying,"  said  Priscilla, 
"  that  he  will  stay  to  dinner  if  we  can  persuade  him 
to.  We  '11  see  about  that." 

A  note,  written  by  Priscilla  herself,  was  also  sent 
to  Mrs.  Edgar  Payne,  frankly  explaining  the  cir 
cumstances  and  the  writer's  desire  of  bringing 
about  a  reconciliation,  and  expressing  the  hope  that 
Mrs.  Payne  would  do  her  part  by  coming  to  dine. 
No  answer  was  received ;  but  Priscilla  attributed 
this  to  the  shortness  of  the  time  and  hoped  that  the 
lady  would  reply  in  person. 

Priscilla  further  made  such  other  little  arrange 
ments  as  were  necessary,  the  most  essential  being 
that  her  father  and  mother  and  Gordon  should  not 
appear  until  they  were  wanted.  Then  she  sat  her 
self  down  in  the  parlor,  at  a  little  before  five,  lest 
Mr.  Payne  should  be  ahead  of  his  hour.  It  may  be 


WHAT   CAME   OF   IT  ALL  313 

as  well  to  add  that  she  was  dressed  in  a  soft,  vague 
diffusion  of  pink,  which,  with  her  blond  hair  and 
blue  eyes,  made  her  look  simply  like  an  angel. 

At  half-past  five  Mr.  Payne  was  ushered  in. 
When  he  saw  who  was  to  receive  him,  he  tried  to 
sustain  as  much  of  the  morning's  chilly  aspect  as 
was  possible  with  a  lady ;  but  Priscilla  melted  this 
in  half  a  second.  "  O  uncle  Harrison,"  she  said, 
giving  him  both  her  hands  and  one  cheek,  "  how 
lovely  of  you  to  come  way  over  to  Rome  —  and  so 
unexpectedly  too.  Sit  right  down  on  the  sofa  beside 
me.  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

Evidently  the  business  air  would  not  do  now. 
So  Mr.  Payne,  who  was  full  of  resources,  tried  an 
other,  the  patronizing,  the  "  my-dear-little-girl-what 
is-your-dolly's-name  ?  "  as  it  were.  "  Is  your  papa 
well  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  should  like  to  see  him,  if  he 
is  in." 

"  Yes,  he  is  in,  and  you  will  see  him,  when  you 
are  through  with  me." 

But  Mr.  Payne  would  take  no  hints  of  this 
kind.  He  had  not  come  four  thousand  miles  to  be 
done  immediately,  even  by  an  exquisite  symphony 
in  pink.  "  I  suppose  you  like  Rome  ? "  he  asked 
blandly.  "  The  shops  are  pretty  ?  And  the  churches 
are  interesting  ?  And  the  ruins  ?  " 

"  I  adore  the  ruins,"  said  Priscilla,  with  enthu 
siasm.  Then  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm,  she  went 
on,  in  a  changed  tone,  with  all  the  incredible  inso 
lence  of  beauty  :  "  This  is  of  no  sort  of  use,  uncle 


314  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

Harrison,  none  whatever.  I  am  a  woman  now  and 
you  have  got  to  listen  to  me." 

The  hand  on  his  arm  was  too  much.  His  irri 
tation  was  slowly  giving  way  to  charm  and  amuse 
ment.  He  leaned  back  in  the  corner  of  the  sofa, 
with  a  sigh.  "  Well  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Ah,  now  we  shall  get  on  famously."  It  was 
Priscilla's  turn  to  assume  a  business  air,  Mr. 
Payne's  to  submit,  as  Gordon  had  done  in  the 
morning.  "  I  believe  Mr.  Gordon  has  already  had 
a  talk  with  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes,  I  had  a  talk  with  him."  Mr.  Payne's 
eyes  smiled  a  little. 

"  That  is  very  unfortunate,"  continued  Priscilla. 
"  Men  always  say  the  wrong  thing  to  each  other  — 
and  then  are  proud  of  it." 

A  solemn  bow  testified  to  the  truth  of  this  piece 
of  profound  wisdom. 

"  I  've  got  to  scold  you,  uncle  Harrison,"  the 
young  lady  went  on.  "  I  'm  sorry,  but  it 's  neces 
sary." 

"  Oh,  I  thought  it  was  I  that  was  going  to  "  — 

"  That 's  another  mistake  men  always  make.  If 
anything  goes  wrong,  scold  a  woman.  A  great  deal 
has  gone  wrong  in  this  case  —  that  is,  for  you. 
Shall  I  tell  you  whose  fault  it  has  all  been? 
Yours." 

He  was  positively  getting  interested.  It  certainly 
was  better  for  Priscilla  to  manage  the  thing  than 
for  Gordon. 


WHAT   CAME   OF  IT  ALL  315 

She  went  on  again,  remorselessly,  knowing  per 
fectly  well  that  with  a  man  like  that,  the  high  tone 
was  the  only  tone :  "  Yes,  it  has  been  all  your  fault. 
I'll  tell  you  how.  There's  poor  Edgar"  —  Mr. 
Payne's  brow  contracted  a  shade.  —  "  Do  I  hurt 
you,  as  the  dentist  says,  when  he  jabs  particularly 
hard  ?  —  We  must  take  Edgar  first.  Don't  you 
think  you  ought  to  have  brought  up  a  boy  like  that 
differently  ?  You  ought  to  have  kept  him  near  you 
and  trained  and  guided  and  softened  him  by  affec 
tion  and  tenderness.  Considering  what  he  is,  I 
don't  think  you  could  have  expected  him  to  turn 
out  any  better." 

It  was  rather  bold  play  ;  but  the  young  lady  was 
acute  for  a  miss  of  her  years.  She  shrewdly  sus 
pected  that  Mr.  Payne  was  more  hurt  in  his  pride 
than  in  his  affection,  which  she  did  not  believe  to 
be  very  intense,  so  far  as  Edgar  was  concerned. 
Now  affection  must  be  soothed ;  but  pride  may  be 
battered. 

She  went  on,  having  received  no  response : 
"  Then  Mr.  Gordon  comes  along.  Now,  uncle  Har 
rison,  you  ought  to  have  seen  through  Mr.  Gordon 
just  as  quickly  and  just  as  clearly  as  I  could. 
You  thought  he  was  a  gentleman  and  would  make 
Edgar  one ;  but  gentlemanliness  is  n't  caught  by 
contact,  like  measles.  You  ought  to  have  known 
that  in  the  whole  wide  world  there  was  nobody  less 
fit  to  manage  Edgar  than  Mr.  Gordon.  Didn't 
you  know  it  ?  " 


316  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

"  It  appears  not,"  was  the  genial  answer. 

"  Well,  ought  n't  you  to  have  known  it  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  ought." 

"Of  course  you  ought.  To  proceed.  Edgar 
comes  over  here  and  he  sees  a  countess.  You 
know  what  that  means  to  one  of  us.  Now,  don't 
you  believe  that  Mr.  Gordon  did  everything  he 
possibly  could  ?  " 

"  I  am  perfectly  willing  to  render  him  that 
justice." 

"  And  do  you  believe  he  could  possibly  do  any 
thing?" 

"Anybody  could  have  foretold  that  he  could 
not."  Mr.  Payne  was  really  beginning  to  enjoy 
himself.  Priscilla  was  entirely  right  in  supposing 
that  he  had  little  affection  for  Edgar ;  he  had  al 
ways  been  ashamed  of  him,  although  he  had  meant 
to  give  him  everything  a  father  could.  In  this 
affair,  it  had  been  his  pride  that  had  suffered,  and 
he  was  taking  bitter-sweet  medicine  for  it  now. 

"  So  you  see,"  continued  his  physician,  "  the  said 
countess  logically  becomes  Mrs.  Edgar  Payne. 
Who  is  to  blame,  unless  in  the  first  place,  you? 
But  it  may  not  be  so  bad  after  all,"  she  added 
caressingly.  "  Wait  till  you  have  seen  her.  She  is 
a  beauty.  Of  course,  she  's  older  than  he  —  but  I 
think  she  will  manage  him  all  the  better  for  that. 
She  may  make  you  very  happy." 

"  Thanks  for  your  encouragement,  I  'm  sure.  I 
had  n't  thought  of  it  in  that  light.  You  are  cer- 


WHAT   CAME   OF   IT   ALL  317 

tainly  very  magnanimous  to  your  triumphant 
rival." 

"  Don't  be  so  bitter,  uncle  Harrison.  I  was  just 
coming  to  myself  —  last.  Now,  you  see,  Mr.  Gor 
don  has  fallen  in  love  with  me.  I  suppose  that  may 
be  a  little  my  fault."  She  looked  down,  with  a 
mock  imitation  of  coquetry,  which,  in  her  frank 
nature,  was  comically  bewitching. 

"  Oh,"  said  Mr.  Payne,  gently  bewitched.  "  It 
is  refreshing  to  find  something  at  last  that  I  am 
not  responsible  for." 

"  But  surely,"  she  went  on,  with  the  same  man 
ner,  "  Mr.  Gordon  is  not  to  blame.  I  suppose  he 
found  me  —  quite  fascinating  —  and  there  were  so 
many  opportunities,  so  much  to  explain,  you  know. 
In  short,"  —  and  here  she  sank  down  on  her  knees 
before  him  and  raised  both  hands  in  melodramatic 
supplication,  —  "  in  short,  I  want  you  to  forgive  us 
all  right  here  and  now  —  Robert,  and  papa,  and 
mamma,  and  Edgar,  and  Mrs.  Edgar,  and  me. 
And  I  will  never,  never  rise  from  my  knees  until 
you  do,  although  the  position  is  already  becoming 
very  painful." 

What  could  he  do,  what  did  he  wish  to  do,  but 
take  both  her  hands  and  raise  her  gently  and  kiss 
her  forehead  and  say  that  he  would  forgive  the 
whole  list,  "  although  it  is  hardest  to  forgive  you," 
he  added.  "  Ever  since  you  were  a  little,  little 
girl  1  counted  on  your  being  my  daughter.  I  am 
so  unused  to  having  my  plans  thwarted." 


318  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

"  That  is  because  you  are  used  to  managing 
animated  dollars  and  cents,  which  can  be  handled 
and  calculated.  It  takes  a  nicer  touch  to  deal  with 
women."  Then  looking  up  and  seeing  an  unwonted 
dimness  —  was  it  even  moisture  ?  —  in  the  deep 
brown  eyes,  she  said  softly  :  "  But  I  will  be  your 
daughter.  Robert  and  I  will  be  a  son  and  daughter 
to  you,  and  you  shall  come  and  visit  us  so  often,  — 
so  often,  —  just  as  often  as  papa  and  mamma." 

Then  he  kissed  her  forehead  again,  with  a  deli 
cate  tenderness,  and  seemed  ready  to  change  the 
subject.  "  If  I  have  paid  a  sufficient  penance  for 
everybody's  else  sins,  perhaps  I  might  be  allowed 
to  see  your  papa  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes,"  answered  Priscilla  thoughtfully, 
"  perhaps  you  might."  She  touched  a  bell,  and  the 
door  opening,  with  a  promptitude  which  suggested 
pre-established  harmony,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stanton 
entered. 

The  greeting  between  the  old  friends  was  much 
more  cordial  than  it  would  have  been  an  hour 
earlier.  Mr.  Stanton  spoke  a  word  or  two  about 
recent  unpleasantnesses,  which  was  gently  received. 
Then  they  fell  to  talking  of  the  money  market. 
But  this  did  not  suit  Priscilla ;  so  she  touched  the 
bell  again,  and  Gordon  appeared.  Mr.  Payne  hes 
itated  just  an  instant.  Then  he  stepped  forward 
and  held  out  his  hand.  "  Good-evening,  Robert," 
he  said.  "  We  had  our  little  business  interview 
this  morning.  This  time  it  is  for  pleasure." 


WHAT   CAME   OF   IT  ALL  319 

"  I  hope  it  will  be  all  for  pleasure  in  future," 
Gordon  answered,  in  his  easy  way.  "  I  prefer  it." 

"  That  will  depend  on  the  way  you  treat  this 
young  person,"  and  Mr.  Payne  smiled  at  Priscilla, 
who  smiled  back. 

"  It  is  she  who  will  do  the  treating,"  Gordon 
rejoined.  "  I  have  a  tutor  of  my  own  now." 

"  By  the  way,"  asked  Mr.  Payne,  turning  to  Mr. 
Stanton,  "  what  time  do  you  dine,  George  ?  You 
did  n't  mention  in  your  note." 

"  We  ought  to  be  dining  at  this  moment,  I  sus 
pect." 

"  Not  quite  yet,"  objected  Priscilla.  "  I  want  to 
wait  a  few  moments  longer."  She  looked  inquir 
ingly  at  her  father  and  neither  of  them  seemed  per 
fectly  satisfied. 

Just  then  a  note  was  brought  in  to  the  young 
lady.  Gordon's  quick  eye  observed  the  black  coro 
net  on  the  envelope.  "  Edgar's  economy  already," 
he  murmured,  "  using  up  the  old  stationery." 

Priscilla  glanced  at  the  epistle  and  seemed  quite 
overcome.  Then  she  read  it  aloud :  "  '  Dear  Miss 
Stanton,  —  I  have  been  out  all  day  and  only  this 
moment'  —  it  is  dated  5.30  P.M.  —  'received  the 
kind  note  which  I  suppose  you  intended  for  me, 
although  the  address  is  somewhat  singular.  I  am 
not  Mrs.  Edgar  Payne ;  nor  have  I  the  slightest 
intention  of  ever  becoming  that  fortunate  lady. 
Under  the  circumstances,  perhaps  it  would  be  bet 
ter  for  me  not  to  accept  your  invitation  to  what 


320  THE  PRIVATE  TUTOR 

appears  to  be  a  strictly  family  party.  If  I  knew 
the  whereabouts  of  young  Mr.  Payne,  I  would  for 
ward  your  note  to  him.  As  it  is,  I  have  no  doubt 
he  will  soon  be  in  the  arms  of  his  affectionate  par 
ent.  Pray  believe  me  to  be,  dear  Miss  Stanton, 
sincerely  yours,  Antonia  Markovski.'  " 

For  a  few  moments  no  one  spoke.  Then  Mrs. 
Stanton  said :  "  Well,  I  don't  see  what  it  all 
means  ;  but  as  there  seems  to  be  no  way  of  finding 
out,  suppose  we  go  to  dinner." 

They  went  to  dinner  ;  but  curiosity  was  stronger 
than  appetite,  and  they  conjectured  more  than  they 
consumed.  Yet  no  amount  of  conjecture  afforded 
any  satisfactory  explanation  of  affairs. 

Nor  did  Edgar's  appearance  the  next  morning 
to  partake  of  the  paternal  embrace  help  matters 
much.  He  explained  his  absence  from  his  lodgings 
during  the  last  day  or  two  on  the  ground  that  he 
expected  Gordon's  return  and  wished  to  avoid  him. 
The  ill-treated  lover  further  expressed  unqualified 
disgust  at  his  father's  arrival  in  the  Eternal  City ; 
but  he  absolutely  refused  to  discuss  countesses  or 
marriages  and  seemed  only  eager  to  pack  up  and 
be  off  to  his  beloved  America. 

The  mystery  was  solved,  however,  when  a  letter 
came  to  Gordon  from  Siena,  having  been  forwarded 
from  Rome  the  day  before  he  left  the  former  city. 
The  contents  were  as  follows  :  "  Dear  Robert,  — 
I  could  have  had  him  ;  but  when  it  came  to  the 
point,  I  did  n't  want  him.  Why  ?  How  do  I  know  ? 


WHAT   CAME   OF  IT  ALL  321 

After  all,  the  great  thing  was  to  beat  you.  Such  a 
poor  triumph !  Since  beating  or  beaten,  you  are 
happy  just  the  same.  But  he  is  so  hideous.  And 
then,  I  might  not  have  got  the  money.  And  then, 
what  difference  does  it  make?  And  it  was  such 
fun  to  hear  him  storm  ;  for  I  gave  him  no  reason 
except  that  I  had  changed  my  mind.  Such  oaths  ! 
Such  intolerable  picturesqueness  of  your  low  Amer 
ican  insolence.  I  had  to  threaten  to  have  him  put 
out  of  the  house  at  last.  Robert,  I  believe  I  did  it 
out  of  love  of  you,  after  all,  just  to  please  you  a 
little  bit.  And  why  should  I  love  you  ?  And  do  I 
love  you  ?  Never  mind.  It  is  all  an  abominable 
puzzle  anyway. 

"  Only,  when  you  are  happy  with  your  Priscilla 
—  you  will  have  to  show  her  this  and  I  hope  it 
will  annoy  her  a  little,  at  any  rate  —  just  think  of 
me  as  having  done  one  good  deed,  against  my  in 
clinations.  Think  of  me  as  hunting  down  another 
golden  calf  —  and  sparing  him  —  or  as  playing 
politics  in  Paris  or  St.  Petersburg  —  or  as  a  nun, 
telling  my  beads  all  day,  all  day,  all  day  —  or  as  a 
crooked  spinster,  in  a  lonely  tower,  on  a  barren 
moor  —  or  as  just  taking  morphine  to  have  done 
with  it.  I  shall  leave  Rome  the  middle  of  the 
week  and  you  will  hear  nothing  more  of  me. 
Good-by,  Robert  Gordon." 

It  will  be  easily  imagined  that  this  remarkable 
epilogue  to  the  drama  of  Edgar's  love  affair  was 
not  shown  to  Mr.  Payne  or  to  the  elder  Stantons, 


322  THE   PRIVATE   TUTOR 

who  had  to  be  contented  wiih  the  simple  informa 
tion  that  the  Countess  herself  had  seen  fit  to  break 
off  the  match. 

"Even  she  couldn't  stand  him,"  said  Mr. 
Stanton  confidentially  to  Gordon.  "I  don't 
wonder." 

The  letter  was,  of  course,  read  by  Priscilla ; 
but  the  few  further  explanations  with  which  it  was 
supplemented  prevented  her  annoyance  from  being 
very  deep.  At  the  same  time.  I  think  she  was 
well  contented  that  the  Atlantic  Ocean  should  roll 
between  her  future  and  that  terrible  black  Countess. 


Electrotyfed  and  printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  <5r-  Co. 
Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


YB  73155 


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